


Halfway

by charmedtomeetyou



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, friends first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 13:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 105,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4103200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmedtomeetyou/pseuds/charmedtomeetyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been years since they've seen each other, but former best friends Killian Jones and Emma Swan meet up for lunch one day and end up spending the afternoon and evening together at the annual Miners' Festival. Much has happened to them since they were close - and none of it very happy. Can they go back to being easy friends, or has it turned to something else entirely? A modern AU (no curse).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> This work is un-beta'd and is literally my first foray into fan fiction ever. Comments are welcome, good or bad! Thanks for reading :)

Emma Swan had been staring at her phone for six minutes straight when the screen finally lit up with a text message.

_Killian: I’m almost there_

Emma was sitting with her shoes on, hair done, wallet in her lap on her front porch looking far too excited than she had any right to. Now before you misread the situation: no, Killian was not Emma’s boyfriend. Killian wasn’t really Emma’s anything. They’d been best friends through school up until he moved a few towns over after their junior year at Storybrooke High School. After that they kept in touch, visiting one another when they could. But as often happens when you grow up, they grew apart.

As of this day, it’s been over four years since she’s last seen Killian. It’s probably been a year since she’d even directly spoken to him, settling for his infrequent Facebook status updates to keep her informed about where life has taken him.

Back in high school she and Killian spent quite a lot of time together, most often as part of their (quite large) friend group, but sometimes just the two of them. And, of course, they often found themselves on double dates together; Emma had been dating Killian’s best friend Neal practically forever, and somewhat because of that, Killian had ended up dating Emma’s friend Elsa. Neal could be a jerk and Elsa could be an ice queen, so often times Emma and Killian spent their time overanalyzing their relationships together or simply ignoring those relationship problems in favor of a movie night full of Varsity Blues and giant pixy stix.

It’s Pixy Stix Killian she’s so excited to see, that carefree guy with the messy hair and a sugar high, bright blue eyes brimming with adventure. It’s not reasonable to expect him to be the one who pulls in her driveway, though. Obviously. That guy is probably long gone and replaced by the rum-swilling heartless bastard Facebook would have you believe he’s become.

(There was a bad break up. Very bad. Something involving a lot of violence and a husband and police and since then Killian seems to spend most of his time drinking with a different bar bunny each weekend except when he’s working on his boat, his truck, or his gambling problem.)

So his text message the night before had been a surprise.

_Killian: Good evening, love. Fancy some Granny’s tomorrow for lunch? I’ve missed you!_

Can you blame her for expecting the good guy and not the pirate?

 

She looked down at her phone again as it buzzed, still seated on her porch in the streaming sunlight.

_Killian: Look up, love._

His timing was perfect. Just as she raised her eyes, tipping her head so her long blonde hair fell away from her face, a perfect shiny black truck came rolling into her driveway, its driver saluting her with a smirk.

That damn dumbass. She needed to remember to scold him for texting and driving just as soon as she gave him a proper hello.

He hopped out of the truck, and walked toward Emma like she was a rare, skittish wild animal. Sure, Emma’s had some shit happen to her these past few years, but hopefully it hasn’t given her the crazy eyes or something. 

_Screw it_ , she thought and just started running, launching herself toward him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He grunted in surprise, falling back by half a step, but he hugged her just as tightly as she had him.

“Hey there gorgeous girl.”

“Hey, jackass.”

“Oh come on! You haven’t seen me in half a damn decade and you’re already insulting me? That’s bad form, to be sure.”

“It’s been four years. Stop exaggerating. And you wanna talk bad form, _jackass_? Cut the texting and driving.” Emma gave him her best disapproving mother stare as she pulled back from their drawn-out hug and he smiled bright – Pixy stix bright – finally removing his way-too-reflective sunglasses to reveal his blue eyes.

Eyes tell you much about a person. Which is weird. They’re just organs. Cones, rods, blah blah blah. But somehow they hold something so opposite of scientific. The color of his eyes haven’t changed, but somehow they still look _different_. Weathered. Emma didn’t need Facebook to know he’d been wronged. 

Her own reaction to that thought was to turn away. Could he see the same thing in hers? She was so happy to see him as a respite from her real life. The last thing she needed was for him to ask her about it.

“Well, love, I’d wager Ruby isn’t ready yet since I don’t see her anywhere.”

“Um, I wasn’t aware she was coming, actually. Call her. She’s more likely to answer you anyway.”

Ruby was another of Emma’s best friends. They lived next door to each other as kids, Ruby living with her grandmother and Emma with her first long term foster family.  When Emma got sent back, she was ashamed and didn’t speak to Ruby for a while, but Ruby was a tenacious thing, seeking Emma out and demanding they stay friends. They weren’t very similar, but they were loyal to each other. Through all of Emma’s foster families, through everything with Neal, through all of Ruby’s (many) one night stands (including one with Killian in college that they never ever brought up again), they still stayed friends.

Just as Killian was getting out his phone, a bright red Explorer came ripping into Emma’s driveway, nearly taking out the decorative fence and slamming into Killian’s perfect truck.

 “Oi! Did no one ever teach you proper road etiquette, young lady?” Killian admonished.

“Hello to you, too, stranger. Get in the car, bitches, I’m starving.” Ruby called back, motioning Emma and Killian to get in her car (at their own peril).

The ride to Granny’s was full of chatter about Granny’s menu (it hadn’t changed in a decade, they assured Killian) in addition to Ruby’s love life, which was fast-paced and all out in the open. It was one of Ruby’s best qualities – how genuine and honest she was about everything in her life. Even the bad stuff. _Chuck it in the fuck-it bucket and move on_ , she always said.

Just a few minutes later and they were inside Storybrooke’s only diner, being served by Granny herself (who did happen to be Ruby’s grandmother, so they got great discounts). Emma and Ruby sat on one side of the table, with Killian on the other, elbows spread so wide on the table that he took up more space than the two girls combined. 

Emma stayed quiet at first, just listening to Ruby recap everything that had been happening in their sleepy little town since he’d left. Lots of weddings and babies, causing Killian to scoff.

“Wankers. I’ll stick to my freedom, thank you very much.”

His British-ness always came out more prominently when he’s flirting or when he’s trying to act aloof. Or drunk. Especially drunk. This instance it’s probably the aloof thing, which she can respect. It would be nice if every wedding or baby announcement didn’t make her hate herself for her inability to procure either one. Whatever.

“Do you realize you’ve been in this country far, far longer than you ever lived in London? I’m pretty sure at this point you’re completely faking the accent,” Emma finally said.

Killian looked disarmed for the length of two heartbeats before he composed himself again into his cocky rum-swilling alter ego. “Well it certainly comes in handy getting you American girls out of your knickers,” he challenged, wagging his eyebrows.

“We’re immune to your charms, Jones,” Ruby remarked as Granny delivered their food.

Killian started talking about the boat show he had attended that morning (the entire reason he was even passing through Storybrooke), which bled into a scathing commentary on how utterly terrible a place Storybrooke is.  Too small. Nothing to do. Everyone’s in your business. Did he mention there’s nothing to do?

Which, of course, made Emma immediately feel defensive. Yeah, she may have never wanted to come back, but she was forced to when…. everything happened. So she was learning to see the best in a bad situation, like her adoptive mother Mary Margaret always suggested. Mary Margaret and her husband David had a fairy tale love story, complete with some pretty epic struggles along the way. Things hadn’t come easy for them, individually or as a couple, so her insistence that Emma hold on to hope didn’t seem empty or false. It still seemed unlikely, though, as their happy ending seemed so rare. Most guys turn out to be assholes. Even the ones you wouldn’t expect.

“Um, Earth to Emma?” she finally heard Ruby say.

Killian was staring at Emma in exaggerated annoyance. “I come to see you after years of being apart and you can’t even bother to listen to me, Swan? Typical.”

“Well maybe I got sick of you complaining about my hometown eight years ago, and figured I could occupy myself with something more interesting. Like trying to remember how to do calculus in my head.”  (Which admittedly she could never do in the first place.)

“Actually,” Ruby stepped in, “we were just talking about the Miners’ festival this afternoon. I was trying to persuade our friend to stick around town and go with us for old time’s sake. I kinda thought you’d back me up on that until I realized you were weren’t exactly with us.”

Killian replied before Emma could react. “It’s ok, Ruby, you had me at ‘free beer.’”

Damnit. It wasn’t fair for her to be all up in her own head with Killian visiting. She’d been so excited to see him an hour ago and was too focused on his half-jerk-ness and her own brooding to take full advantage of being with her childhood friend. That’s it. She’s turning back the clock on her whole goddamn attitude. The Emma that Killian knew in high school had been damaged, yes (foster care will do that to you – even after you’ve been lovingly adopted), but she'd still had fire and light inside her. And it had to be in there somewhere still. She’d been excited to see Killian, one of her truest friends, so she’d better get her act together and enjoy the day.


	2. The Miners' Festival

Ruby, Killian, and Emma arrived at the festival in the center of town just after opening ceremonies. Despite it only being early afternoon, it seemed that the entire town had already arrived, milling about, enjoying food and games, chatting together. There were a few not-so-subtle shocked glances when Killian was recognized, but no one had approached him just yet – probably based on Killian’s leave-me-the-fuck-alone glare. He’d never exactly been Prince Charming, but since leaving Storybrooke his animosity for large social gatherings made him, in a word, _abrasive_. (Why he agreed to even come to the festival was still a mystery.) 

Emma was just about to craft a snarky comment about Killian’s attitude when his face softened, gradually breaking out into a genuine grin. _Must have found the beer, huh?_ Emma turned and surprisingly, no, it wasn’t the beer tent he was smiling at, but her adoptive mother.

Mary Margaret was manning the candle fundraiser stand, as she proudly did each year. She was in the middle of making a sale when she recognized her daughter and her friends and excused herself hurriedly to go say hello.

“Killian! It’s been too long, sweetheart,” she practically sang as she embraced him.

“Yeah, hi, Mom, glad to see you, too,” Emma mumbled as Mary Margaret was showering Killian with compliments and soft pats on the back. Killian was blushing somewhat adorably as he answered all of Mary Margaret’s inquiries about his life – his job, his dog, his boat. She never asked about his love life, which was probably for the best. Had Emma mentioned the nasty breakups or the string of short term flings to her? She was always very honest with Mary Margaret. Then again Mary Margaret was pretty intuitive on her own.

“Yeah, I’m taking the _Jolly Roger_ out again next weekend. Work has been keeping me occupied, but I can’t wait to get back out on the open water,” Killian said.

“How wonderful! What brings you to town today, anyway?”

“Why, these two lovelies, of course.” Killian grabbed Ruby and Emma by the shoulders and hugged them tight, plastering a ridiculous but sarcastic grin on his face.

“Of course. Well enjoy the day, you three! Don’t miss the fireworks. Will is putting on quite the show this year, I’ve heard.”

Mary Margaret waved goodbye as the three started walking, Killian dropping his arms from their shoulders and stepping a pace ahead of them.

“I’ll create some fireworks of my own if someone could just point me to the libations.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Jones, is that even an innuendo? I think you’re losing your touch.”

“Which is why I need a drink!” Killian said, accentuating the “k” as the beer tent came into full view. He pulled out his wallet, and thrust money at the girl behind the counter the exact moment he reached the front of the tent, demanding a drink without any pleasantries.

“What, none for us?” Emma asked as Killian walked back toward them, gulping down a quarter of his beer before licking foam off his top lip.

“Sorry, darling, you’re on your own.”

Emma and Ruby got drinks as well, before sitting down with Killian next to the raging bonfire, just in front of a stage where two violinists were preparing for their upcoming performance.

“I’m going to need another drink if I’m forced to listen to Mozart this early in the day.”

Killian swallowed down the last of his first beer as Emma spoke. “So, what, you usually wait until evening to start rocking out to classical music?”

“Keep talking, Swan. You’re going to end up in the fire before sunset.”

Killian came back with another drink and the three of them began reminiscing, talking about some of the lighter moments of their younger years. Parties on the beach. That road trip to New York City. Seeing Killian’s band play at the Rabbit Hole on all-ages night.

“Aye, Graham got so nervous he forgot the lyrics to ‘Nothin but a good time’ and then threw up on the front row!”

“I’ve never been so happy to have showed up late in my life,” Ruby said. Emma remembered it well. She’d been on time and right in the splash zone.

“It’s too bad we didn’t have smart phones back then. That shit would have gone viral,” Emma responded, tapping the hip pocket of her jeans where her smart phone rested.

Ruby’s phone chimed and she excused herself from the circle, finding a relatively quiet corner beyond the reach of the violinists’ speakers. Killian and Emma continued sipping their drinks, watching the performance. Killain hadn’t complained even once after they began playing. Their duets were quite mesmerizing, often mashing up multiple songs from different genres into brand new (and quite impressive) arrangements.

Killian gave her a sidewise glance after a particularly spellbinding mashup of Old Crow Medicine Show’s “Wagon Wheel” and Sia’s “Chandelier,” effectively admitting he judged the act too quickly.

Ruby returned just then, eyes bright and somewhat breathless. “So! I’m leaving you crazy kids on your own. Victor is here and we’ve got some things we need to do.”

Ruby looked directly at Killian and winked. “Don’t you go finding some whore and leaving our little Emma to fend for herself.”

“Um, I think I can handle myself, Rubes.” Emma answered with an eye roll.

“Ready for a refill, love?” Killian asked as Ruby flitted away toward the festival’s entrance.

“You buying?”

“Nope.”

She rolled her eyes, but walked with him back toward the beer. The tent was getting busier as the afternoon went on, so for the first time they found themselves waiting in line. Emma was about to ask Killian about his plans for later (his drive home was over an hour. Wasn’t he going to need time to sober up to drive?), when she was interrupted by a girl with a long blonde braid and a bright blue dress.

“Kilian?!” Elsa wailed, seemingly far more delighted than Emma would have assumed she’d be. Yes, she was happy now (and accompanied by her current fiancée, August), but she hadn’t actually spent any time with Killian since their relationship ended. Last they saw each other, Killian had walked a mile in a snowstorm (without his leather jacket since she’d stolen it) to her house to try to make up after they’d had a particularly nasty fight about jealousy or something. She refused to let him in, no matter how much his screaming was waking up the neighbors, and that was just it. End of relationship.

But it just must not have ever really been love, because here they stood, chatting away like the hurt never mattered. Emma stood with her mouth open, just watching them catch up with almost as much genuine mirth in their eyes and voices as when he’d been speaking to her adoptive mother.

“Emma! I didn’t know you were even coming. Why didn’t you call me?” Elsa asked her suddenly.

“Well I didn’t know I was coming. Ruby is the reason we came, actually, but she ditched us.”

“Victor?”

“Victor. So that’s not a new thing, then?” Emma asked.

“Fairly new? But it’s been a couple of weeks at least. She left with him the same night you left with that Walsh guy. Who, by the way, is here.”

Killian choked on his beer as his eyes snapped up to Emma’s. “You _left with_ someone?!”

Emma’s cheeks burned as her stomach dropped to her ankles. “It wasn’t like that! I just kissed him. And now he won’t leave me alone.”

Emma moved a little closer to Killian as Elsa not-so-subtly pointed out Walsh from across the bonfire. It was obvious he had already seen her. And she probably couldn’t be so lucky that he wouldn’t try to talk to her. She downed the last of her beer just as she and Killian made it to the front of the line. She asked for four more and slammed down her money, including a hefty tip, prompting the server to pass along the alcohol more quickly. She handed two of the beers to Killian and took two herself.

“Why don’t we go this way?” She said, tilting her head toward the games. “Bye, Elsa!” She called back with a forgive-me smile.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk. Which is usually my tactic,” Killian teased as he held up one of his beers for a cheers.

“Just didn’t want us to have to go back near that tent anytime soon.” She shrugged, before chugging down one entire beer.

Killian looked at her with something resembling pride.

“What? I can’t play games with no hands.”

They spent the next half hour playing every cliché carnival game imaginable. She nailed the balloon dart game, while he excelled at knocking over milk bottles with a baseball. Her cheeks were flushed from excessive laughing and moderate alcohol intake, and the sounds of his laughter boomed over the light pop music pumping through the speakers now that the live entertainment was on break.

Emma felt lighter than she had in years. There was something so easy about spending time with Killian. Even when he was being sarcastic or rude, it was a comfort to just be around someone who _knew_ her, but who hadn’t had to watch the unfortunate fallout from her most recent tragedy. Killian was right about one thing: small towns did have their downfalls. Everyone who knew her knew what happened, judged her on it. It had been weighing on her soul and making her feel awfully alone, so her mother had suggested she join a club in the next town over or start online dating to try to make _new_ acquaintances, but it was just so exhausting. It was so much effort trying to define yourself, explain what you like, make a good impression. With Killian, she could just _be_. Why did she ever let that friendship get away from her in the first place?

Another band was setting up by the bonfire, so Killian poked Emma toward the beer tent with the foam sword he’d just won. He shoved it into his back pocket so he could go back to double fisting beers when they reached the front of the beer line. Emma had to use the restroom (ew, porta-potties, but what can you do?), so Killian sat down and set her drinks beside him to save her seat.

To her delight, the facilities were the fancy kind and didn’t yet smell of vomit. To her non-delight, Killian had given away her seat to one of his buddies from high school. They were talking excitedly about rebuilding cars and boats and all kinds of technical things, so she reserved her anger for a later time and simply stood enjoying the music.

A few songs later, she saw Walsh peering at her from behind a group of kids, so she bent down to Killian and nudged his arm with hers.

“Let me sit on your lap.”  
“Ummm, why?”

“Walsh is coming over here and I don’t feel like trying to politely explain that I don’t like him even a little tiny bit.”

“Sorry, lass, I’m not getting in any fights over you,” Killian insisted, shaking his head.

“Please, Killian?” Emma gave him a pleading look as she brushed her hand on his wrist.

“No.” He jerked his arm away, turning his head back to his friend, effectively dismissing Emma.

_Ouch_.

Emma saw a group of her adoptive mother’s friends near the Firemen’s food tent. Regina caught her eye and beckoned her over. She stood with the older women, discussing the food and the pie-eating contests and especially the jewelry makers – Regina said that David had gotten Mary Margaret a brand new wedding ring after hers had been stolen, this one a green diamond just like the first.

She spent several songs speaking with the women when she felt a tap on her shoulder. _Fucking Walsh_.

This is why she shouldn’t ever drink. Walsh had been a friend of a friend she’d met at the one party she’d attended in the last year. He was paying attention to her and smiling and lightly brushing her cheek and playing with her hair and something in her just melted – she was missing the feeling of being loved so much that she let herself fake it for just a minute. She kissed him like she remembered kissing Neal, stroking his hair and squeezing his hand. He wasn’t a very good kisser, though, so even in her drunken state she knew it wasn’t right. Too drunk to get herself home, she’d asked him for a ride. Unfortunately, he took that as interest in another encounter and continued to text her the following week. Every. Single. Day. She’d been polite but unyielding. He wasn’t getting the hint.

“Hey! How’s it going?” Walsh looked determined, and glassy-eyed drunk.

“Um, it’s fine. I’m a bit busy, though.”

“Is everything OK? You seem on edge.” _Well, no shit. You’re putting me on edge._

“Yes, I’m doing quite well. I’m trying to just enjoy the afternoon here with my mother’s friends, though…”

“Oh, they’ll be fine without you,” he said, stumbling on a twig. “I thought perhaps we could revisit that conversation we were having at the party a few weeks ago.”

He licked his lips suggestively as his eyes raked over her figure, stopping to stare at the swell of her breasts. He reached his hand toward her slowly, seeming indecisive about where he wanted to touch her.

Of course Killian chose that moment to rethink his refusal of her fake-dating avoidance tactic, standing from his seat on the bench to walk toward them. Shit. Shit shit shit. There was no way out of violence at this point, but Emma had read a note of sincerity in Killian’s desire to keep himself out of fights.

Good. This was her problem, anyway.

Before Killian could get close enough to intervene, Emma snapped. 

Stop!” she shrieked (to Walsh, but, yeah, it kind of worked for Killian, too). Walsh was utterly unaffected by her rejection, deciding to stroke the side of her breast and waist on his way to her hip.

At that, she lost her control entirely, grabbing his hand with hers and cracking his fingers backward while simultaneously kneeing him in his privates.

“Don’t you dare touch me. Ever. Again.” Emma said sternly, loud enough for him to hear, but not enough to make any more of a scene. People were staring, of course, but no one did anything more than gape at the blonde with the wild green eyes and determined stare, shutting down the monkey-boy who’d clearly had too much to drink.

That is, until security came over. Emma panicked a bit. Graham was the officer on duty, and they didn’t have the best history. He actually didn’t have the greatest grasp on the meaning of the word “no” either (as Emma knew all too intimately), so it wasn’t unreasonable to assume he’d sympathize with Walsh.

“I think it’s time you head home, Walsh. Assuming Miss Swan doesn’t want to press any charges first?” Graham asked (surprisingly) sincerely.

“Nope. Just get him out of here.”

Emma apologized to Regina for the scene – she had actually forgotten that one of the women in the group she’d been speaking with was Walsh’s Aunt Zelena. _That’s not awkward at all_. Zelena began mumbling an apology for her nephew’s poor behavior, but Emma just walked away, not wanting to be around the crowd any longer.

Killian was certainly following her (his car was at her house, after all), but Emma didn’t dare look back until the sounds of the festival were quieter than her own footsteps (and, to her relief, _his_ ).

“I always knew you had a little pirate in you,” he said as soon as she’d turned to look back at him.

“Pirate? It’s not like I robbed him of his gold.”

“No, darling, you took a treasure far more important: his ego.”

She wasn’t taking it as a compliment. “Oh, what, because he got assaulted by a _girl_?”

“Stop twisting my words, love. Do you need another drink?” Killian asked with a conspiratorial smirk.

“I’m not going back there for _beer!_  Have you lost your mind?”

“What about for some rum?” he asked, reaching into his inside pocket, revealing a flask. He tipped it toward her as a peace offering, which she gladly accepted.

She took a swig and passed it to him and continued walking further from the festival. The beach was just a few blocks away, and it tended to have a calming effect on her. He seemed to understand her line of thought.

As they walked, Killian complimented her form and her composure, talking animatedly about how her altercation was sure to be front page news. He was spouting something about the candle fundraiser being knocked to third page when it dawned on her that her mother had probably witnessed the Great Kneeing of the Miners’ Festival. And her father. Oh god. They wouldn’t be mad at her for what happened by the bonfire, of course not, but she didn’t want to have to fill in the blanks about why Walsh had felt “led on” in the first place.

“Don’t worry, love, we can make up a story to make him sound crazier than he was. Not that I’m saying he wasn’t completely out of line – I just mean –“

Emma cut him off. “Did I just say something out loud?”

“No, but, lass, I know you better than you know yourself sometimes. You were just worrying that you parents may have witnessed your scuffle, weren’t you?”

“Jerk.”

“Hey, I resent that!”

They walked in silence until they reached the shore. Emma removed her shoes and rolled up her jeans before setting out across the sand toward a large piece of driftwood. Killian followed suit and together they sat down, staring out at the ocean. Killian seemed very mindful of the space between them, careful not to sit too close or brush her fingers with his own while they continued to pass the rum back and forth, reminiscing once more.

He’d just finished recounting a disastrous double date they’d shared in which Emma and Neal had started screaming at each other over broken crayons in Pizza Hut, when the inevitable subject was finally broached.

“So have you visited him at all? Neal, I mean,” Emma asked in a voice so low Killian might not have even heard her.

But he reacted immediately, shaking his head, pausing before he spoke. “No, we stopped truly being mates long before his incarceration. Probably as soon as I moved away, really. He didn’t make half the effort you did to keep in touch. And I watched him make an assortment of bad decisions, hurting those closest to him.”

“Yeah, he definitely did that.” Emma sighed. This was not a topic she wanted to discuss. Or was it? She had brought it up. Well. The rum brought it up, anyway.

Killian leaned himself toward her almost imperceptibly (but still careful not to touch), looking her straight in the eyes. “I don’t know what happened. Not really. I saw some police reports but didn’t really read it. And I’m not going to ask you about it. But I just wanted to say: you deserved better.”

Since she was little, she’d always had a sort of built-in bullshit detector. And Killian wasn’t bullshitting her.

She broke their gaze and stood with a glint in her eye. “Wanna play?”

“Excuse me, Swan? Are you _nine?!_ ”

“I want to play in the waves. Come on, Killian! Are you afraid of getting a little wet?” She challenged, already setting off toward the water.

It had been a warm day but the sun had just about set. Getting wet was probably not going to be very comfortable, but sometime you just need to _let go._

Killian didn’t follow at first, looking over-careful once again.

“Ah, what is a Captain who’s afraid of the sea, Mr. Jones?”

“Well, milady, I don’t have a proper vessel, now do I?” Killian continued walking toward her, albeit slowly.

“That’s true. And you’re not a great swimmer. I mean, according to the swim coach in high school, anyway…”

“Easy, Swan! I could never have been on that team. Those boys were too pretty.”

He stopped in front of Emma, just out of the reach of the lapping waves.

“Oh, you’re one to talk, pretty boy!” She said, reaching up boldly to stroke his cheek, scratching his stubble. Before he had a chance to cringe away (again), she bolted for the water, kicking the salty spray directly in his face.

“Oh, you’ll get it for that, Swan.”

“Can’t throw me in the fire, now can you?” Emma splashed once again and then giggled. She actually fucking giggled. When was the last time _that_ noise came from her mouth?

“Ugh, Swan, I didn’t have enough rum for this!” He called, pointing back toward the driftwood (and the rum). Emma made a run for it and reached it before him, drinking it down before he registered what was happening.

She held the empty bottle upside down and jutted her lip out in mock sympathy. “Oops!”

“Well, we’d better start walking, darling, and dry out those clothes. Your house is, what, a mile or two from here? I do need my truck at some point.”

He probably wasn’t in any shape to drive, but he wasn’t necessarily suggesting he was going to try tonight. And he was right. They’d need to get back to her house before it got too cold (or before she fell asleep against a tree).

“OK, sailor, I’ll lead the way,” she said, walking toward the highway.

The walk to her house was comfortable (except for the wet jeans), Killian and Emma talking about the music and movies they’ve enjoyed in the years since they’d seen one another. This topic, of course, led back to them performing a rendition of their favorite song and dance.

_This here’s a jam for all the fellas_

_Tryin’ to do what those ladies tell us_

_Get shot down cause ya’ over zealous_

_Play hard to get, females get jealous_

Killian and Emma sang, trying to do the wave and the running man and, of course, the classic “hook the fish and reel it in” dance move, right down the middle of the highway as the fireworks in the distance began splashing across the Maine sky.

So yeah, that amount of alcohol had probably been a bad idea, but passersby on the road were certainly getting some free entertainment. Killian had warned they were going to get hit by cars, but Emma insisted her hair was bright enough that no one was going to miss them. He didn’t disagree.

Emma stumbled in her front door when she finally unlocked it (Killian had assisted her as she was attempting to use the wrong end of the key), asking him if he needed some pajamas.

“Trying to get me into bed, love?” He winked at her as she headed toward her room.

“If I were trying to you into bed, would I be asking you to put _on_ clothes? Dumbass.”

“You’re so mean when you’re drunk! Whatever happened to you?” Killian asked teasingly, before his face fell. “I didn’t mean – I, no! um… I’m just kidding.”

“Oh, calm down,” she said from her bedroom, clearly ruffling through drawers to find suitable clothing. “Sorry, no boy clothes here. But these should be fine.” Emma threw some gray sweatpants and a big black t-shirt toward Killian.

“Really, Swan, Doctor Who?” he questioned, holding the TARDIS-covered t-shirt across his chest.

“Call me Rose Tyler, sweetheart,” she said, curtseying sloppily. “Now you go lie down. You must be tired from all that spinning you’re currently doing. Granny’s for breakfast in the morning?”

Emma pointed down the hall to her “guest room” (an empty room with a very plain double bed).

“As you wish. Sleep it off, darling.”

“Night, Jackass.”

“Night, Swan.”

Emma went back to her own room, changed into her Mickey Mouse PJs and collapsed on the bed, falling asleep before she even pulled a blanket over herself.

 

Emma awoke in the morning to a pounding headache and an empty house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for continuing to read my first fic ever! Let me know your thoughts with a comment if you're so inclined :)


	3. Awkward

He didn’t leave a note. Or a text message. Or even the clothes she’d let him borrow. Nope, she was left with a poorly made bed and the distinct feeling she’d been abandoned by a one-night-stand. Without even the morning-after satisfaction of a night of meaningless sex. Not that she would really know that feeling, but she’d seen enough TV shows to imagine it, right?

She stood in her tiny kitchen somewhat dumbfounded but in dire need of some food and water. Too tired to put in much effort, she popped some bread in her toaster, started her coffee maker, and tried to chug down as much water as she could. It made her stomach churn, but it was the only way to get over the massive throbbing in her head. She ran her hands through her moppy blonde hair, staring at her open fridge, mind entirely blank as to why she ever opened it.

Had she done something wrong? Friends don’t generally run out on one another like that. Especially not Killian. It isn’t as if they’d never slept at the same house before. In high school he got into a few fights with his older brother, leading to platonic sleepovers at Emma’s. He would try to be a gentleman and excuse himself to the couches of Mary Margaret and David’s basement, but she always insisted he just stay in her room. They slept comfortably beside one another each of _those_ nights, and they had never woken up feeling awkward or panicky or with the need to run away.

Jelly! She’d opened the fridge for jelly. Her epiphany coincided nicely with the popping of her toast and the beeping of the now-brewed coffee, so she gathered her breakfast and sat down at the table.

Emma spared one more glance outside to her driveway, hoping that maybe her friend’s black truck had magically reappeared, before she started chewing on her toast. At first the thought of swallowing the bread mush seemed repulsive, but her hunger won over in the end. She threw her plate in the sink and carried her mug of black coffee with her while she went to her room to figure out what the fuck she was supposed to do next.

Tell Ruby? But then again there was nothing to tell. He had some moody moments all night, so maybe she should have seen it coming. Maybe his hatred of Storybrooke won out in the end. Maybe someone in his new life texted him with an emergency and he just didn’t think to let her know.

Texting him would probably solve it. Just ask him how he was feeling. Make sure he made it home.

Emma suddenly felt her cheeks burn scarlet. How was it that she was feeling so ashamed? They’d hardly spoken in four years. And he’s a big boy. He could drive himself home and he was probably _fine_.

Emma pulled off her pajamas and headed for the bathroom. She smelled like bonfire and fish, and the salt from the ocean had dried in her skin and hair, creating a rigid crust. Maybe _that’s_ why Killian left.

She brushed her teeth twice while the water of the shower heated up, and once she was under the warm spray it took three hair washings to make her smell like a girl again. She was too tired to shave her legs, so she just washed her body and got out of the shower, slipping on a purple robe and twisting her hair up into a towel.

Just as she started walking down her hallway toward her bedroom, she heard a faint creak from the kitchen. Maybe Killian had just gone to grab some Granny’s to-go and she was feeling awkward for no reason at all. She didn’t feel the most comfortable in her current attire, but really it was still nothing he hadn’t seen before. Nothing to freak out about.

She peered into the kitchen as she approached, but it was quickly apparent she had nothing to worry about. It was just the sounds of an old house, not the sounds of an old friend.

Emma went about the rest of her usual routine, finding clothes, blow-drying her hair. By the time she was applying makeup, she felt almost human again. Except for the pangs of bad feelings she got every time her brain drifted back to the evening before.

It wasn’t until her phone lit up with Mary Margaret’s face that she remembered exactly how many bad feelings the prior night had caused. _Fucking Walsh_. If her mom hadn’t witnessed it firsthand, she’d certainly heard about it by now. Ignoring her call (sadly) wouldn’t make that problem go away, so she picked up the phone and swiped her finger across the screen.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, sweetheart. How are you?” Mary Margaret asked in a sincere, even tone.

“Um, I’m OK. Wasn’t feeling super awesome a couple of hours ago, but rum will do that to you. How was the rest of the festival?” Emma sat down on her couch, fiddling with the fringe of an old afghan.

“It was nice. We raised a lot of money. Great fireworks. Good food. Same as every year, really.” It was obvious from Mary Margaret’s quick rundown that there was something else she wanted to address, but was giving Emma the choice to bring it up or drop it.

_Might as well just go for it_. “So my kneeing Zelena’s nephew in the balls isn’t going to be the highlight of the festival in _The Mirror_ tomorrow?”

“Now, honey, I didn’t say that. I’ll admit that just about every person I talked to last night mentioned it to me. Or at least referenced it in some sly way to see if I had any gossip to add. As if I would stoop to speak of my own daughter to a bunch of empty-talking monkeys.” Mary Margaret seemed livid about the gossip, but still interested in knowing more about what had occurred.

“Yeah, Killian warned me I’d be front page news. That’s sort of why I booked it afterward. I’m sorry I didn’t say bye before I left,” Emma said with a sad smile she knew her mother could imagine just by hearing her voice. She really was lucky to have found someone so perfect in an adoptive mother. Mary Margaret was protective, warm, understanding, hopeful – everything a little lost girl needs to heal.

“Did you want to talk about what happened? I’ve heard a few versions of the events, but I somehow don’t believe most of them. Especially since Leroy tried to tell me that you throat-punched Walsh after doing the _Karate Kid_ crane move on him.”

Emma laughed her first bit of genuine laughter since the previous night. “No, mom, though I do wish I’d incorporated such choreography into my defense.”

“You could have ended up on Buzzfeed,” her mom replied.

She paused a moment before spewing the truth. Somehow the ridiculous picture Leroy’s story painted made her far more at ease with the truth. It’s entirely possible that was Mary Margaret’s intention all along. It’s entirely possible, in fact, that Leroy never said such a thing. But Emma would never let on to her mother that she doubted her, not when it turned out to be exactly what Emma needed.

“You know how I went to that party with Anna and Ruby a few weeks ago?” Emma began.

“Yeah, I think I remember you mentioning it.”

Emma explained how she met him, how she’d been feeling sad, how she let him kiss her but then asked him to take her home. She told her how he texted her and wouldn’t quit, no matter how little encouragement she provided.

“So I just snapped when he literally wasn’t taking no for an answer. And in public, no less,” Emma finished.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that. Regina suggested that wasn’t the first time he’s behaved so poorly, though. Not that you would have known that when you met him for the first time. But did you and Killian have fun after you left? I heard you were singing down the highway just before the end of the festival, so I imagine your night wasn’t ruined entirely.”

Emma laughed again, but this time it didn’t ring quite as genuine. “We went to the beach. He had the rum. There was some splashing and singing and, like I said, quite the headache this morning.”

“Oh, I hope I haven’t been keeping you! Or has he already gone home this morning?” Mary Margaret asked.

“No, it’s fine. He’s gone.”

 

Emma tried for several hours to be productive, but everything she did ended up being pretty half-assed. She cleaned well enough. She put away some of her clothes (and shoved others to the back of her closet). She thought about making a healthy lunch, but poured a bowl of Lucky Charms instead. And try as she might to avoid her phone, her face still fell every time she lit up the front screen to the zero notifications she’d received.

So she called Ruby. Ruby was the Queen of getting over shit. Especially shit that _shouldn’t even bother her_.  So she dialed.

Ruby picked up on the second ring. “’Sup, killer?”

“So you heard about the Walsh thing, then?”

“Sweetheart, no one _didn’t_ hear about it.”

“Just what I was hoping to hear. Listen, I need to talk to you about something ridiculous and obnoxious and stupid.” Emma twisted a curl around her fingers, staring down like she was trying to avoid eye contact (even though Ruby was _not even there_ ).

“You slept with him didn’t you?! Is he still there? Is he showering? Oh my god, he was amazing, right? Please tell me you snapped a picture. Or two. Of him, I mean. Not that you’re not beautiful and all, but you know what I’m saying. It had to have been –“

“Ruby! No. That’s not… that’s not what I was going to say. I mean he stayed here, yeah, but he slept in the other room. No funny business ever at all. If anything he was kind of distant or skittish last night or something. And then he bolted this morning before I even got up. And now I’m feeling weird. And I need you to help me feel _not_ weird.” Emma blushed. Again. Like a _goddamn teenager_.

“Oh, but that _is_ weird! You don’t bolt if it’s nothing.”

“You’re not helping.”

“I don’t sugarcoat, darling. Just telling you the truth. Are you sure you remember everything? Maybe you tried to grope him on the way home.”

“Ugh, no. I remember everything. He probably just got sick and didn’t feel like wrecking my bathroom,” she said with conviction. Almost like she believed it. “Oh, shit, David’s calling. I’ll see you Thursday for dinner, Ruby?”

“As always,” Ruby responded and promptly hung up.

Emma thought about calling her dad just to make her feel a little better about the lie, but decided the afternoon was better spent watching Netflix and drinking tea.

 

That night she dreamed about _Karate Kid_ and fireworks and Killian’s messy hair on the pillow of her spare bed.

 

Emma’s job was dull. Her whole life she wanted to make an impact, become something great, impact people’s lives, but she ended up like Chandler freaking Bing – entering numbers here and there, pushing paperwork, contributing nothing memorable enough to the world for anyone to even remember her job title. It was unfortunate on days like this on that her job required such little brain power, because she needed a distraction. Anything at all to make her stop feeling embarrassed, like she was somehow responsible for ruining a friendship. Ruby had texted her that morning during her break with a simple _text him_ and Emma had not responded. If asked, she’d probably deny having ever read it in the first place. And she’d certainly deny that she’d typed a hundred different messages to Killian so far that morning without once hitting send.

 

_~~Hey I’m assuming you made it home yesterday?~~ _

_~~I had fun Saturday! You know, after my violent episode~~ _

_~~So you really liked my clothes enough to keep them?~~ _

_~~Sup jackass~~ _

_~~Soooo any reason you randomly left yesterday morning?~~ _

_~~Glad I got to see you this weekend~~ _

_~~Don’t let another 4 years go by without visiting again~~ _

By the time she got home that evening, it was clear there was only one thing she could do: she had to just swallow her pride and text him already. Because at this point, she was acting like a damn middle schooler with a crush. But 1. She was a grown-ass woman. 2. Even when she _was_ a middle schooler, she took the bull by the horns. She didn’t settle for having a silly crush like all the other girls. Nope. She made that boy into her own. But most importantly: 3. She _did not have a crush on her former best friend Killian Jones_.

She typed the first thing that came to her mind and clicked send before she could doubt herself.

_Emma: Hey! Hope my spare bed wasn’t so uncomfortable that you had to run in the middle of the night this weekend._

23 minutes later, she was still curled on the couch in the exact same position, watching Jeopardy and getting every single question wrong. Even the one about Jane Austen (who happened to be the only author she really knew at all – mostly because she had a book called _Emma_ , which appealed to her personally for obvious reasons). Finally her phone buzzed.

_Killian: It was not a problem, Swan._

_Emma: Oh, good. Just checking._

_Killian: Yep._

Emma stirred her pasta, trying to think of something else to say. Why was he being so weird?

_Fuck it_ , she thought.

_Emma: Why are you being so weird?_

_Killian: We barely know each other anymore. How would you even know what ‘weird’ is for me, anymore?_

Teenaged Killian’s voice came to her mind then, his imitation of that stoner kid from _That 70s Show_ : “Ooh, BURN!”

Two Killians interacting in her head at once… that’s a little worrisome.

She drained her noodles and added the sauce, sprinkling some cheese over her bowl as she scooped out a serving. Living alone was always an exercise in how many days straight she could make the same meal last. This spaghetti looked to be at least a 3-day affair.

She stared at the noodles like they might give her some advice if she just twisted their arms the right way until her phone buzzed once more.

_Killian: I should have left your clothes, but I forgot. I’ll donate them and make some nerd super happy or something._

Ah, so the asshole Killian was back.

_Emma: Don’t you fucking dare. I love that shirt and it was not cheap._

_Killian: Shouldn’t have lent it to a pirate then, love._

_Emma: Please don’t get rid of it._

_Killian: It’s not like I’m ever going to see you again. Just buy another._

_Emma: Why wouldn’t you see me again?_

He didn’t answer right away, so Emma cleaned up her dinner, putting the rest of the meal in several Tupperware containers for upcoming meals and depositing the dirty dishes in the sink. Killian _still_ hadn’t responded, so Emma took a shower and packed tomorrow’s lunch. Still nothing. So she folded those clothes she’d shoved in her closet the day before.

Just when she’d about given up (well, convinced herself that she had), her phone buzzed. She finished brushing her teeth quickly and walked back over to her phone resting on the kitchen table.

_Killian: Because stuff changed._

_Killian: I mean I changed._

Emma tried not to be offended. Wasn’t it the point that, yes, they’d changed? Plenty had happened in the 8 years since he moved, in the four years since they’d seen one another. But how was any of that a deal-breaker when it came to them hanging out?

_Emma: Well no shit, Sherlock. That’s called growing up. We can still hang out._

She sent that message and typed another before she had time to question herself.

_Emma: I missed you._

His response came quickly, which could be either a good thing or a sign of more awkwardness to come.

_Killian: You sure about that, lass? You called me a jackass no fewer than five times this weekend._

_Emma: You WERE a jackass definitely not fewer than five times this weekend._

_Killian: That didn’t even make sense. What college did you go to, clown college?_

_Emma: It was that or Skateboard Academy._

_Killian: Of course. Well, I’ve got an early morning at the shop. I should allow you your beauty rest. I’m sure you’ll need more of it after this weekend._

Emma rolled her eyes. She might not be a super vain person, but she did have a mirror. No one would accuse her of being _plain_. Except someone deliberately trying to be a jerk.

_Emma: Jerk._

_Killian: Yep._

A minute passed, Emma trying to think of a funny retort or scathing comment. Killian replied before she came up with a single word.

_Killian: Sweet dreams, love._

 

Emma’s next two days were a bit busier at work. Not _Tony Stark_ busy, by any means, but she had enough menial tasks on her plate that she wasn’t all up in her own head. On Thursday, Emma was just getting home from work when her phone buzzed with a message. _Probably Ruby cancelling our friend-date._ She’d texted a bit with Ruby the previous few days, and it seemed like Victor was turning into far more than a one-time thing. If Emma weren’t mistaken, it seemed Ruby might just be _smitten_. So, of course, she wouldn’t fault her for blowing off their plans. But it would still be a bit disappointing.

She swiped her thumb over the screen without looking at the notification and what she saw confused her. It was a picture message – the back end of a black car featuring a bumper sticker reading “My other car is the TARDIS.” The caption read: _found your boyfriend’s car_.

Emma blinked a few times, trying to understand whose car Ruby could be talking about. Then she finally took note of the name at the top of the screen. Killian. Killian, the mechanic, who worked on cars, who found a _Doctor Who_ reference on a car and felt the need to send it to her. Maybe they were still friends, after all.

_Emma: He just gets me. What can I say?_

Emma checked her other messages to make sure Ruby really hadn’t bailed before grabbing the keys to her yellow Beetle and driving to Granny’s.

Ruby was sitting at the bar when she walked inside, casually chatting with Ashley, one of the waitresses. She was six months pregnant with her second child, her belly pleasantly round beneath her apron, which made Emma cringe. Six months in was all the further Emma had made it those years ago, when she was the pregnant just-barely-older-than-teenager. It was easy to repress when there was nothing directly to remind her of it, but she couldn’t avoid her favorite diner (and her old friend. In fact, Emma often babysat Ashley’s first son, Alex, who was honestly a ray of perfect sunshine). Ruby noticed Emma’s eyes unable to lift from Ashley’s belly and understood her sudden awkwardness immediately.

It’s not that everyone hadn’t known. They did. But most people didn’t think about it anymore. After she lost the baby (and the father and her job and most of her hope in the opposite sex in general), it just became this thing that happened long ago. It was part of the reason she was even in this town to begin with – needing support afterward – but (thankfully) it didn’t really stay part of her story. She went back to being Mary Margaret and David’s kid, the pretty blonde girl who probably was never leaving Storybrooke. But Ruby always knew what she needed, so they headed to a back table and started talking about TV shows, upcoming concerts, and how deeply they wished that delicious food wasn’t so full of calories.

It wasn’t until they were in the middle of dinner that they even got to the subject of boys. Ruby started it, as she usually did, by announcing proudly to Emma that she’d never ever had sex with the same guy as many times as Victor. Apparently that was supposed to be quite the milestone, so Emma congratulated her and asked where she saw the relationship going.

“Um, back to the bedroom, of course.”

Ruby’s response was light and teasing, but it carried with it something heavier. Emma knew that she was falling hard and fast. And she was so happy for her. She wouldn’t make her feel self-conscious by saying that out loud, though. They’d both always been better at _show_ than _tell._

“And you, missy… did we text Killian?”

“Yes, and he’s still a jerk.”

“But, like, an adorable jerk or an insufferable one?”

“Somewhere in the middle. But I think we might actually be able to be friends.”

Ruby knew how much Emma needed a friend who _hadn’t_ had to watch her pick up the pieces of her broken life, but, of course, she wouldn’t say it out loud.

“Good. Just don’t fuck him in the bed of his truck. It gets cold overnight and shit gets awkward in the morning,” Ruby said, tipping her Dr. Pepper toward Emma.

“Maybe you’re the insufferable one! You know I don’t want to hear about your little _dalliance_ , as he called it.”

“It’s just general advice,” Ruby promised with false innocence.

 

Friday night came and Emma thought about the dull weekend ahead. She was having dinner with her parents on Sunday night, but had absolutely nothing planned before that. Netflix was always an option, but it was supposed to be sunny and beautiful and she wanted to take advantage.

She remembered promising her neighbor, Dr. Hopper, that she’d take his dog Pongo for walks when she could (he’d hurt his hip and couldn’t exercise the poor Dalmatian as much as he needed), and an idea struck her.

_Emma: Any plans in the morning, jackass?_

_Killian: Uh, no. Why?_

He was going to be weird again, but Emma was just going to power through.

_Emma: What do you say to meeting halfway tomorrow? There’s that hiking trail in the Enchanted Forest. I have to walk my neighbor’s dog. And you probably don’t walk Pete enough. Care to join?_

_Killian: Why would you think my poor Peter Pan is neglected?_

_Emma: Because he probably is. Are you coming or what?_

She didn’t receive a response for over half an hour, and she started making bets with herself about what lame excuse he’d resort to. Probably “I have to wash my hair.”

The final response surprised her.

_Killian: Pete and I will be there. 10am sharp._

 

And to her surprise, she pulled through the entrance to the Enchanted Forest at 9:55am, parked in the lot by the trailhead, and had just extricated Pongo from her little Bug when that familiar shiny black truck came roaring up next to her.

Killian rolled down his window and wagged his eyebrows at her.

“Did you miss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for continuing to read my story. I'd really love to hear your thoughts so please comment if you'd like to share them with me! The next chapter is called The Enchanted Forest and there's going to be some shifts for Killian and Emma.


	4. The Enchanted Forest

Pongo and Peter were surprisingly well behaved together. With Pongo that wasn’t necessarily a surprise – Dr. Hopper got him as a puppy and started him with obedience classes when he was just 6 months old. When the doctor walked him, Pongo didn’t even require a leash. He’d just keep pace calmly at his side, wagging his tail at all those who passed but never actually straying further than three feet from his owner.

Peter, on the other hand, was certainly no show dog. A stray mutt Killian had taken in at somewhere around a year old, Peter was energetic, uncontrollable, and, like his namesake, an eternal “child.” Killian had mentioned this in passing the weekend before, but it wasn’t clear exactly how much he _wasn’t_ exaggerating until the sweet, happy mutt tried bowling her over as a means of hello.

“At attention, Swan! Don’t let him catch you unawares!” Killian was tugging on Pete’s rope, laughing with pure glee at Emma’s expression of dissatisfaction. She loved dogs, of course, but she hadn’t been expecting to be assaulted so early in the morning.

Emma looked down at Pongo, who stared back with an almost human expression of disgust, as if to say _uncultured swine_.

But once they started moving on the trail, Pete seemed to fall in line with Pongo, walking with determination (and even a little bit of grace). Emma set a pace slightly faster than _leisurely_ and Killian grunted a bit, looking pointedly at his (overly tight) jeans.

“Not my fault you don’t know how to dress for a walk, Jones.”

“Well I didn’t realize we were going for Olympic qualifying pace.” Killian adjusted his pants once more and rolled his eyes. “Guess I should have thought to bring your sweatpants. Would have been a tad more comfortable.”

“You didn’t even bring my stuff?” Emma’s eyebrows shot up as she swatted at his arm.

“Perhaps it slipped my mind.” Killian shrugged, feigning innocence. His arms were both swinging, Pete’s green rope twisted around his left wrist securely in case the mutt caught scent of a squirrel or a rabbit and decided to bolt. The four of them kept walking down the trail, talking about the scenery (“It’s certainly earned its _enchanted_ moniker,” Killian had remarked), and catching each other up on their work life. Killian told a few stories of particularly stupid car owners (“she put oil in the gas tank, Swan! Even _you’re_ not that daft”), and Emma did her best to explain her coworkers by way of equating them to characters from _The Office_.

“Well who does that make you, love?” he asked as she talked about the pedantic “Dwight” fellow who sat two cubes over.

“I’m pretty sure every girl hopes that she’s Pam when most of us are actually Jan or Kelly.” Emma scrunched her nose and shook her head, preferring to joke about her boring days rather than face the reality of how much they really _sucked_.

Killian seemed to catch her train of thought to the more _serious_. “Didn’t you always say you wanted to be a CASA volunteer? I know it’s been a while, but that seems far more rewarding than what you’re doing now. I mean unless your office’s Tim counterpart is available. Or _Jim_ if you’re going all _American_ on me.”

“For the last time, you jerk, you’ve been here far longer than you were ever in London. Grab a triple cheeseburger and complain about foreigners… you’re an American, too.” Emma spotted a drinking fountain along the trail at that point and veered over, pulling her track bag off her back to retrieve Pongo’s little red bowl. She filled it with water from the spigot and let Pongo drink as she used the fountain at the top to get some water herself.

“Man, I’m a bad doggy dad. I didn’t even think to bring a bowl.” That much had been obvious as Killian hadn’t brought anything along with him but his cell phone and the leash. When Pongo seemed satisfied, she refilled the bowl and set it in front of Pete, giving Killian a look of disapproval.

“You’re lucky I’m here.”

“Don’t I know it.”

They were quiet as Emma packed up the bowl again, nodding politely at a group of runners as they passed.

Killian stole several hesitant glances in her direction before he began speaking again. “So, Swan. CASA?”

She took in a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips, blinking her eyes closed for a few steps. CASA was an organization she owed a lot to, having helped her find her _forever home_ while she was in the system. Volunteers were there to stand up for the kid, help them with their _best chance_ , whether that meant going back to their biological family or getting adopted into a new one. There were a lot of happy endings associated with the job – obviously there were success stories like Emma’s – but it was never, ever easy. Becoming a volunteer meant becoming truly invested in the often very dark lives of “lost” kids, something Emma wasn’t sure she could handle.

“I still would love to do it. I just… I don’t know if I could handle it. I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

“Love, of course you’re strong enough. Plus you’re literally the embodiment of hope for young lads and lasses like you! You may not have been the product of true love or anything like that, but you _found_ it when Mary Margaret and David found you.”

Emma would blame the moisture in her eyes on allergies, but no one would buy it anyway.

“Yeah, I know I was OK in the end. But what if _they aren’t_? Not having a happy ending is painful enough, but... giving someone unrealistic hope is far worse.”

They were quiet again for a few moments, the only sounds the panting of the dogs and the drag of their feet as their pace slowed a bit.

Emma’s brain went into overdrive trying to think of a smooth segue into a topic much less heavy. The last thing she needed this morning was to _think_ too much ( _Stop thinking and start drinking,_ Ruby would say, but it was no time for alcohol).

Killian must have sensed her desperation and shifted the subject gracelessly.

“So! How about those Rangers?” He said, his whole body lifting up like an overexcited toddler.

“Is it even hockey season?” Emma asked with a quirk of her eyebrow.

“Honestly I haven’t a clue.” Emma laughed at his attempt, again shifting herself off the path as she came to a stop.

“Will you take Pongo for a second? I need to put up my hair. It’s getting a little too humid for my liking.”

“I don’t know, love, I quite prefer your hair down for me to tug on.” Killian winked, pulling on a piece of her hair as if to prove his point.

“Good thing I don’t exist for the sole purpose of pleasing others, then, huh?”

“Aye, calm down. Hand him here.” Killian double checked that Pete was secure before reaching his other hand for Pongo.

Emma passed over the leash with no trouble (Pongo was hardly a flight-risk) and swept her long hair up in one motion, tying it off with a band she’d been keeping on her wrist. She reached out her hand for Pongo’s leash again, this time her fingers brushing slightly against Killian’s. He frowned and yanked his hand back with more effort than seemed necessary.

Emma felt burned by the contact and somewhat ashamed by his reaction. _Why the hell is he being all weird again?_ Better keep it light.

“Onward, right? Let’s follow the yellow brick road!”

Killian didn’t smile. “I don’t think this really qualifies as ‘yellow,’ Swan.”

“Oh come on! It literally leads to Emerald City. I _had_ to say it.” The trail through the Enchanted forest was something like 17 miles long and wound along a creek all the way to Killian’s current hometown of Emerald City. When he first moved, he made a lot of comments about being the _wizard_ and all the organs he certainly _was not missing_ , but eventually the town became a source of bitterness for him (much like Storybrooke), so his teasing sort of just stopped.

Killian scowled at her. “A bit easy, don’t you think?”

Emma pulled at her yoga pants and smoothed out her t-shirt, keeping her eyes on herself or the dogs. They had started pulling a bit harder, probably catching the scent of other dogs on the trail earlier that morning.

After walking at least half a mile in almost total silence, they came upon a little bridge, the sunlight streaming through a willow tree behind it. Despite the sarcasm laced in Killian’s earlier comment, there really was truth in the comparison: the forest could pass for _enchanted_ at moments like these.

Emma switched Pongo’s leash to her left hand so she could retrieve her cell phone from her pocket. They didn’t actually have any service at the moment, but Emma wanted to take some pictures she could post later on. No one would believe how beautiful this was without proof (she was oh-so-bad at words, after all).

Killian leaned against the railing and Pete sat down beside him, finally tired enough to almost behave.

Emma opened her camera app and snapped a few pictures of the sunlight and the water before she flipped the camera so it was front-facing. She stood a few paces ahead of Killian and Pete, positioning herself so the bridge, Killian and Pete, and her own face were all in the frame.

“Smile, Killian!” she ordered him, careful to move her lips very little so as to not ruin the pretty picture. He turned his head toward her but didn’t really smile so much as grimace. She had already snapped a few quick photos when he huffed loudly and walked out of the frame entirely.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing?” He bit out at her, moving off the bridge and as far away from her as he could manage while still conversing.

Emma stood dumbfounded, her mouth agape as she quickly locked her phone’s screen and returned it to her pocket.

“What do you mean, _what am I doing_? I was taking a picture. With my phone. People do that these days. Technology and all.”

“Bloody fuck, why would you need a goddamn picture with me in it?”

Emma’s cheeks burned. Here he was, back to making no sense. It was clear he thought she’d crossed a line, but what the hell line was it? This was nothing she wouldn’t have done with Elsa, Ruby, her mom… even with that actor that one time she saw on the docks in Storybrooke. No big deal.

“It was pretty looking and we’re here and I thought I’d take a picture to remember it… I wasn’t aware that was a crime.” Her tone was getting darker, the more his eyes seemed to blame her for something she couldn’t fathom doing wrong.

“And what, so you could put it on Facebook? Yeah that’s the very _last_ thing I need in the world: everyone seeing that and assuming we’re _together_.”

Emma’s stomach dropped through her ankles like she was on a rollercoaster at Coney Island. One without breaks and perhaps that derailed somewhere in the middle.

Emma stared out at the particles floating through the air, highlighted by the streaming sun beams. _Was this really happening right now?_

“Really, Killian, really? The very last thing you need in the world is maybe one or two people kind of wondering if maybe you and I are a thing? First of all who gives a flying _fuck_ what your goddamn Facebook friends think? And secondly, seriously?! Am I so terrible that my accidentally causing someone to think we’re _together_ makes you want to set me on fire with your fucking eyes?” Emma was starting to speak so fast she was losing her breath, but that fire burning in Killian’s eyes was also burning right through her now-deeply-embarrassed heart and she just couldn’t stop.

“Is that seriously the worst thing you can possibly think of, you insufferable _asshole_?”

“Well, come on, Emma. It wouldn’t be quite the leap for people to assume. You’ve already fucked my two best friends. Why wouldn’t you add my notch to your bedpost?”

Nope. That was it. Done. Done, done, so _fucking_ done.

“What. Did. You. Just. Say.”

Emma got very still, her face hardening. Pongo stiffened at her side, ever concerned with the feelings of his handler, even when it wasn’t Dr. Hopper.

“You heard me, Emma. I’m not about to defend myself to people I hardly talk to anymore about why I would stoop to start dating my idiot friends’ sloppy seconds. Especially when _I’m certainly not even dating her_.”

Suddenly his behavior from the previous weekend became a bit clearer. He didn’t want anyone to think he’d ever touch her, sloppy seconds (or thirds, as he was actually suggesting) she was. Why did he even come, then? _He_ had texted _her_ in the beginning. _He_ drove to Storybrooke. _He_ agreed to come to the festival. Emma felt her breakfast granola and coffee threatening to make an encore appearance, but all that came out were words that made far more of a mess.

“Well great because it’s not like _she’s_ dating you, either. Nor does she _want_ to! Ever. As for your thinly veiled reference to me being a _whore_ , you should probably know a little better than that. Wanna talk about Neal and Graham? Let’s recap just for old time’s sake. _Neal_ was my first love, a boy - and then man - that I thought was my Prince Charming for practically a fucking decade… yeah how whorish of me to have sex with him. As for _Graham_ , how _dare_ you _._ You saw me the day after, tequila seeping from my pores as tears streamed down my fucking face because Graham had gone quickly from comforting me when I was feeling down to forcing his way into my body with promises and threats and shots of heavy liquor. I said _no_ to that stupid idiot friend of yours, but he took my precious fucking flower anyway, all because I was upset about Neal and vulnerable and how _dare_ you throw one of the worst moments of my life in my face like that.”

Killian made no moves, kept the same stern, cold face, despite Emma’s defensive words and obvious hurt.

“You know what? I came out here to take a walk with my friend Killian, but I’m calling it. That Killian is dead. Lord fucking knows what killed him, but at this moment I officially don’t care. I don’t know who _you_ are, this imposter standing in front of me, but _fuck you_.”

Pongo growled once and Pete lay down at Killian’s feet in response. Killian opened his mouth, probably to say something even more hurtful, so Emma cut him off.

“Don’t follow me. Wait five minutes. Go get a drink of water or something,” _and maybe drown in the creek while you’re at it_.

Emma broke out in a brisk run, hoping to get far enough ahead of Killian that she wouldn’t end up seeing him while she was getting Pongo into the Bug. The poor dog, he certainly had never jogged with Dr. Hopper before, but he kept pace gracefully. Emma ran faster, hoping that the sweat dripping out of her skin was replacement enough for the tears threatening to fall from her eyes, like she’d somehow pay the gods of salty body fluid enough that she’d be able to keep her cool once she stopped running.

She didn’t start crying until after she dropped Pongo back off at Dr. Hopper’s house, the doctor giving her an apple pie he’d baked in repayment for taking his dog.

“It was really no trouble, Doc. It was such a beautiful morning.” Which wasn’t a lie, technically. If she’d have just forgotten about Captain Dickhead, she and Pongo could have had the perfect day.

She cried for probably an hour, just sitting in her driveway in the Bug – the first time she’d cried since she’d lost the baby. That loss and the ending of her relationship with Neal was far, far worse compared to these silly harsh words from an asshole former friend, but still – they were just enough to push her over that edge she was always teetering on. The one where she still thought she wasn’t enough, where nothing would work out, where she’d always feel alone in the world like the lost little girl she was. The orphan.

By the time she got herself together it was long past lunch time – not that she could eat – so she just made a cup of tea and settled for a bath. She propped up her phone on her toilet, setting the playlist to a compilation of fluffy poppy dance songs, none that were in any danger of connecting with her emotionally.

She texted Ruby a simple update about her non-friendship with Killian as she sat on her bed towel drying her hair.

_Emma: Tried hanging out with my “friend” Killian again today. He’s definitely on the insufferable end of the spectrum. Won’t be making that mistake again._

_Ruby: What did he do? Kick Pongo?_

_Emma: No, that would have been nicer. He basically called me a whore because I took a selfie with him in it. Whatevs. I’m not going to worry about it, OK?_

Ruby would hopefully pick up on the fact that she didn’t want to talk about it anymore tonight. Or ever again.

_Ruby: That little fucker. I’ll kick his ass._

_Emma: I think we established last weekend I can commit all my own violence, don’t you think?_

_Ruby: Yep, nobody saves you but you._

Emma turned off her phone that afternoon and threw herself into chores and Netflix and list-making and cleaning until she was so exhausted she fell asleep at her kitchen table.

 

Sunday was family dinner night, but Emma thought she might feel better if she made a full day out of it. She was getting her makeup on and preparing to head to her parents’ house when she realized she should probably warn them she was coming. Since she’d moved out several years ago, she’d inadvertently witnessed some things a child – even a grown one - never wants to see their parents doing. It was sweet, in a way, because they were just so in love. But still. Yuck.

She turned on her phone for the first time in something like 18 hours and was immediately flooded with notifications.

_Crap, who died?_ That was always her first thought, the reason she often was too scared to turn off her phone at any given time. What if that one time was when someone needed her?

But turns out it was just communications from a ghost. After all, she had declared _her_ Killian Jones to be dead, and that appears to be mostly who was texting her.

_Killian: I’m so sorry_

_Killian: Swan, please answer my calls._

_Killian: I need to talk to you_

_Killian: I know you’re mad at me and I know that was terrible, but I can explain_

_Killian: I didn’t mean it_

_Ruby: Um, Killian has texted me, like, a hundred times. I told him to leave you the fuck alone, but he seems pretty broken. Want me to kill him or should I be nice?_

_Killian: Why don’t you have a fucking landline? I need you to listen to me_

_Ruby: I think your phone is off. I’m trying to keep him from coming to your house._

_Ruby: Yep, he’s drunk. I’m going over to Emerald City to make sure he doesn’t drive. Call me when you get this?_

From there Killian’s messages descended into incoherence and misspellings so grand even autocorrect was like _I’ve got nothin’ for ya, buddy_.

God. That asshole. Making her feel guilty now when she didn’t do _anything_ wrong.

Emma’s first phone call was to her mother, letting her know she wanted to come over early. Mary Margaret was thrilled, and David hooted in the background to show his enthusiasm. Despite her being 26 years old, they still treasured the time they spent together with their little girl. Yes, an afternoon with a real fairy tale couple would do wonders for her current despair.

Just before leaving her house, Emma caved and dialed Ruby’s number. Ignoring a problem usually only made it worse, so she’d better grab the bull by the horns again (like usual).

Ruby answered practically before it started ringing. She must have had her phone directly in her face when Emma had called.

“Emma! Finally. I was worried about you.”

“Sorry. I just wanted some quiet yesterday. I honestly didn’t even expect anyone to have tried to call or… anything.” Thinking about the missed messages again was making her a little dizzy. Nope, she should have opted for avoidance. Shit.

Ruby was quick to fill in the blanks. “So I just got home from Emerald City a little while ago. Killian was so wasted by the time I got there last night I honestly think he would have wrecked his truck before he left the driveway trying to come find you. He was so upset.”

Emma’s face lit up in pure anger all over again. “Well whose fucking fault was that? He’s the one -”

Ruby cut her off. “I’m not defending him, sweetheart. I’m just telling you. He was mumbling and slurring and repeating things I didn’t even understand. But he kept saying something about him being dead or being better off dead, so I couldn’t leave. This morning he was pretty quiet and sort of acted like he didn’t have a massive meltdown last night. I don’t know. But I just needed to tell you. So you were prepared.”

“Oh, I don’t have to worry about being prepared,” Emma said as she locked her front door, walking toward her Bug with purpose. “It’s not like I’m ever going to see him again, anyway.”

She thanked Ruby for being a good friend (to her and to Killian, too, apparently) (unfortunately) and then hung up. Not that Emma wanted harm to come to him. But, god, wasn’t she allowed to just be angry without the complication of guilt? Yes, she knew she was right when she’d said something happened to old Killian, _something_ killed him. It was probably the Milah stuff, whatever that entailed. But how was that supposed to excuse his dick-ness? She knew he’d been playing the villain for a few years now to reel in girls and shrug off reality, but the evil that had escaped him the day before wasn’t just a game. She had shit in _her_ past and it didn’t darken her own heart that way. She didn’t lash out at her friend, finding their weak points and punching.

It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t ok and she wasn’t going to forgive it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This chapter was hard for me to write because I never like being mad at Killy Bear, but his douchebaggery was necessary to his character in this AU. Coming up we're going to get more backstory for each of them, which I hope you'll appreciate. I'm so happy for all your responses to my first-ever attempt at fan fic! I'd love to hear what you think, so comment if you're so inclined :)
> 
> Side note: CASA is a real thing and it's a wonderful organization, so look it up if you are curious to know more at CASAforchildren.org!


	5. Nope

She was on her way to her parents’ house when she felt her phone vibrate from her back pocket. Ignoring the call was the safest bet – she didn’t feel like recapping last night with Ruby again already (or anyone else Ruby may have blabbed to by now)- but chances were good it could be Mary Margaret or David asking her to pick something up from the store on her way to their house. The highway had a wide berm, so Emma pulled off, not daring to try to retrieve the phone from beneath her while still operating the vehicle. It was a smart idea, too, as she fumbled a bit, the phone slipping from her grip and landing at her feet while it was still ringing. She managed to swipe her thumb over the screen beneath her knees to answer it just before it kicked to voicemail.

“Shit, sorry, Mary Margaret?!”

“…. Uh no. It’s Killian. Your friend who is very sorry and –“

“ _Nope_.” She responded simply before violently poking at the _end_ button. Why did flip phones ever fall out of style? There was something much more cathartic in snapping a phone shut to hang up on someone.

Emma gripped the steering wheel with both hands, squeezing her eyes closed with so much force the wrinkles around her eyes were threatening to become permanent. _What just happened_? She didn’t think Killian would dare try to contact her this morning, especially since Ruby suggested he was behaving like their little problem – and his subsequent drinking binge – never happened. Sort of like his overall behavior during several points over the past two weekends had suggested their entire _friendship_ never happened.

And how dare he try to act all casual with her this morning after what he pulled in the Enchanted Forest. It was bad enough to bruise her ego with his embarrassment over how their relationship might be misinterpreted by outsiders, but to use the most painful things from her past (that he knew of) against her…

Ruby should have stood up for her more, explained to him in no uncertain terms that he’s a fucking _asshole_ for what he did. For him to have the balls to call her means Ruby had to have given him some sort of hope that the call _wouldn’t_ result in his death, which, if Emma were in sight of him at the time, it unquestionably would have.

_Mom_. Mary Margaret is waiting. She and David would make this better because they always made everything better. _Get your shit together, Swan_ , she chastised herself.

Emma put her phone safely in her cup holder and took a few calming breaths before switching on her turn signal and reentering the highway. Her parents were only a few minutes away from where she’d pulled over, so her mind would be clear again soon enough.

She vaguely acknowledged the smooth vibrations of her phone against the cup holder as she drove – just little bursts, so text messages rather than phone calls – but turning up the radio drowned that out quite nicely.

 

Emma and David were getting ready for a horseshoe rematch (they were tied with one win each) when Mary Margaret called them over for drinks. She emerged from the back door of their beachy cottage with two pitchers in hand: lemonade (for Emma) and iced tea (for David). Emma tried to protest – she and David were fiercely competitive and didn’t want to settle for a tie – but Mary Margaret insisted they sit down and just enjoy the sunshine.

She couldn’t deny that her house growing up – well, yeah, it wasn’t hers until she was almost _grown_ , but teenage years were childhood, too – was a bit like a fairy tale. Mary Margaret was an avid gardener, planting the entire 2-acre property with beautiful flowers, bushes, vegetables, fruits, and even cultivating what others might consider _weeds_ into lovely arrangements. _Now Emma_ , her mom would always say each spring when she was replanting and manicuring the yard for the new growing season, _just because someone else gave it that definition doesn’t make it true. Beauty comes in all forms if you just let yourself appreciate it._

The three of them settled at their picnic table, carefully positioned beneath the shade of an apple tree. The tree had been a wedding gift from Mary Margaret’s friend Regina, and the picnic table had been an adoption gift from David’s uncle Marco. That’s another thing about Emma’s parents: everyone loved them. Whether they were so loved _because_ they were so positive or they were so positive because they were loved wasn’t clear, but Emma thanked her lucky stars or fairy godmother or whatever Earthly force led her to them, because she couldn’t imagine what path her life may have taken without them.

Mary Margaret finished pouring their drinks and announced they had fifteen more minutes before dinner would be finished cooking in the oven, so she wanted to use that time to catch up.

“Are you implying that your food will be so delicious that we won’t be capable of carrying on a conversation once we’ve begun eating?” David asked with big flirty eyes at his wife, leaning his shoulder into hers like a teasing middle schooler. Emma rolled her eyes, despite acknowledging how freaking adorable they were.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Mary Margaret responded, leaning back into him before turning to stare at her daughter. “Now out with it, Emma! Time to spill.”

Emma froze. She’d been so distracted in her _my life is so perfect_ reverie that she forgot the very real imperfections she’d been dealing with just hours ago.

“Um, spill what? My life has been pretty normal. I still hate my job, but I’m getting through and I just started this new series on Netflix and –“

 “No, young lady, you know that’s not what I mean.” Mary Margaret had a way of being both incredibly loving and full-on terrifying all at once. The stern set of her mouth showed how serious she was taking this conversation, but the softness of her eyes conveyed her absolute love and concern for her daughter.

“Then what do you mean?” _So much for forgetting about it_.

“What your mother means is that while we love you and appreciate you coming over early today to see us, we knew from the start there was something bothering you,” David began.

And like the soul mates they were, Mary Margaret picked right up on his thought without even a breath. “And we know you are probably trying to avoid it, but that will never make it better. We just want you to be happy, sweetheart. And running away from your problems is never the answer.”

Emma studied her lemonade, cataloguing the shape of each individual piece of ice, watching the little sweat droplets roll down the outside of the sunflower-covered glass in streaks – basically looking at anything except the pleading eyes of her parents.

Probably an entire minute passed in silence before she resigned herself to speaking. _Damn her teacher mother using the silence tactic to force her to talk._

Emma took a deep breath, uncrossed her legs, shifted forward, and just went for it.

“Well, you know that Killian came to visit last weekend. We had fun – “

“You almost caused some car accidents is what you did,” David cut her off with a very disapproving dad stare.

Mary Margaret swatted his chest and poked him in the arm. “Now is not the time, David.”

Emma continued. “Well we didn’t, did we? We had fun, but then he got all weird on me and not talking and I was worried I did something wrong. But I missed us being friends! You know how I’ve been feeling lately and I figured it was worth fighting for a friendship that used to be so good and happy and all that. Anyway, long story short, I got him to meet me halfway yesterday – that trail in the Enchanted Forest – so we could walk his dog and Pongo. And he sort of had a meltdown on me, and I don’t want to have to go into detail here, but he… called me some things that I’d rather not repeat.”

David moved to stand, probably to run off for his shotgun or something else so _very_ masculine, but Mary Margaret pulled him back down.

“Oh, honey, that doesn’t sound like the Killian we know.”

“He’s not!” Emma answered quickly. “He’s just not. I was wrong. And that makes me sad. So I’d like to stop talking about it, please.”

“So that was it? He didn’t apologize or try to talk to you or anything?”

The ready-to-forgive glint in Mary Margaret’s eyes had Emma worrying that Ruby had called to rat on her for not telling the whole truth or something. What was _with_ everyone jumping to defend this jackass who made her feel like shit?

“You know, Emma, you miss out on some beauty by ignoring it just because it’s misunderstood.” Mary Margaret reached across the table to wrap her hand around her daughter’s, tilting her head in something like sympathy.

“Killian isn’t one of your misunderstood weeds, mom. I’m not going off anyone else’s definition of him but his own. I thought he was just faking the whole bad guy thing these past few years, but it looks like he’s let it become him. So I’d like to just stuff my face now and then beat Dad at horseshoes and then show you that new show on Netflix, and then go home and never think of this again.”

As if on cue, Mary Margaret’s oven beeped loudly through the open window of the kitchen.

“Just think about it, OK, Emma? He’s been through more than you think.”

David still had flames burning in his eyes as Mary Margaret ran into the house, but he did as Emma asked and dropped the subject.

 

The time came eventually for Emma to head back to her own place. She'd been in her Bug a grand total of 45 seconds before her mind drifted back to Killian. She had been so blinded by her desire to _not be having that conversation_ that she missed the most important part: Mary Margaret knew what had happened to him. Why had she never said? How did she know in the first place?

Ugh. It didn’t matter. Killian was not a pretty blue misunderstood weed.

Emma buckled herself in, flipping her long hair back over her seatbelt as she reached for the radio, trying to find an appropriate song. _Nope. Not this one. Nope. Hell no. NOPE._ God, why were all pop songs exactly the same? She settled for NPR and tried real hard to think about world hunger or global warming or the banking crisis of 2007 or whatever the hell they were talking about.

She returned home, eagerly awaiting a shower and a date with her very comfy bed (her shoulders were already aching from horseshoes with her dad, but her victory was entirely worth it). She was trying to do the math of how many hours of sleep she could get if she made her shower super fast when her headlights settled on an unwelcome surprise in her driveway. Killian’s shiny black truck.

Emma retrieved her phone from the cup holder it had been banished to all day, for the first time noticing exactly how many messages and calls she’d missed (45 messages and 3 phone calls, in case you were wondering). Every single one of them appeared to be from Killian. She didn’t bothering checking them, since she was inevitably about to catch the live show.

He better have brought his fucking rum.

He was perched on her front steps, clad in his leather jacket (even though it was still 85 damn degrees outside). His hair was sticking up in all different directions like a Japanese cartoon, and the white of his knuckles was visible even in near darkness.

“Swan!” he stood up as soon as she started walking toward him. “You’re here!”

“Well, yes, Killian, this is where I live.” Emma strode toward the steps and Killian’s eyes flashed a series of emotions ranging from hope to fear (probably that she was going to punch him in his stupid pretty face, which, yes, she would like to). He stepped to the side as she stormed past him, quickly fitting her key into the door’s lock and walking inside (sobriety and anger make her efficient). Killian stood dumbfounded at first, but she heard his footsteps trudge up the stairs and into her house behind her.

“Emma, please –“

“ _Emma please WHAT_ , Killian?! I can’t do this. I can’t take this from you. I thought – well I thought that we still had what we used to – that we, maybe, could be friends…”

“We are! Emma, we are friends. You’re the best friend I ever _had_ and please don’t let my momentary lapse of judgment sully what –“

“Momentary lapse of judgment, that’s what you’re calling it? Killian, not only did you act in a manner the past week or so – off and on – that made me doubt my value as your friend, but then you also attack my, what, _morality_ or something? I trusted you – years ago, yes, but that trust didn’t have a fucking expiration date – and you used it against me! And then now you make _me_ feel guilty for not wanting to talk to you about it and you keep forcing me to yell at you and I don’t want to yell because I don’t want to feel this way, like total fucking _shit_ – I just – I just want to go to sleep and pretend I haven’t seen you in 4 years and maybe, just maybe, I was right back when I thought the way you act around other people these days isn’t actually who you are deep down.”

“But you’re right! It’s not! I just – I had some shit happen in my life. Milah, she was my girlfriend, and then we talked about getting married, and then she screwed me over harder than I can possibly explain and – I mean, I’m getting ahead of myself, because that’s not the point. The point is this: I’ve spent a great many years trying to be someone different, but you reminded me I’m not. And that can be scary and I lashed out and the jerk I was pretending to be to everyone else, he would have used trust to tear someone apart and I can’t change what I’ve done, and it was just a reaction and –“

“Stop, just… stop, Killian. I know what you’re trying to do here, to _bond_ with me. You know I’m broken, too. But that’s the point. Maybe we’re both too broken. We’ve got too many sharp edges we might stab each other with – not that I was _planning_ to stab you, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to _now_. So. Just keep away from me.” Emma was still standing in her living room, trying to mask her shaking long enough that her legs wouldn’t give out while he was watching. She never was a fan of confrontation.

“Emma, please. What if we slept on it and talked tomorrow? I know you’re mad and I know I’m not making it better, but I can’t give up on you. I mean, I won’t.” He stared her straight in the eyes, his forget-me-not irises begging to not be forgotten.

But that’s the act, isn’t it? He _just_ said how adept he was at pretending to be someone he wasn’t. She knew how many beds he’d wormed his way into with those pretty eyes and that sharp tongue and probably a list of manipulations akin to Barney _fucking_ Stinson. Had he done to some vulnerable bar bunny in Emerald City what Graham had done to her? God knows where his own moral lines fell, but he’d already crossed the one labeled _childhood best friend_ , so his trustworthiness wasn’t looking great.

_Just let him explain, sweetheart_ , her mother’s voice sang in her head.

_Sorry, mom, this ain’t a Disney movie. No Stockholm Syndrome for this beauty_.

“No, Killian. I have a job. And I have a tiny scrap of dignity. I don’t know what you want from me – whether it’s a punching bag or a fuck buddy or a wingman or god knows what else… but I can’t be any of that for you. You need to leave.” Emma stormed past him once again, careful not to make any contact, and swung the front door wide open, her eyes tracing the path his feet should take to get the fuck away from her.

He took half a step before stopping again. “Can I, um, please just stay in your guest room? Please. I just – I haven’t slept or eaten and I can’t make the drive back in the dark…” he trailed off, pleading with her.

“Call Ruby if you need a place to stay. I’d rather _know_ I’m waking up to an empty house than be surprised when it happens, anyway.”

Her words clearly stung him, his shoulders slumping as he let out the breath he must have been holding after throwing out his last plea.

“Aye, I will. Unfortunately my phone’s battery died a few hours back. So… uh, if you’d be so kind as to offer me your own, I would much appreciate it. Not that I should be asking anything more of you, but –“

“It’s fine. Just let me call her.” Emma let the door swing back shut as she pulled her phone out of her pocket, tapping a few times and then holding it up to her ear. Killian leaned against the door, dragging his fingers through his messy hair again. He seemed one tug away from causing permanent hair loss, but that wasn’t exactly her problem.

Ruby picked up on the third ring. “So how did it go?” she practically squealed.

“Oh, uh, I had a good day with Mary Margaret and David… but that’s not why I called.”

“I know, silly, but how did it go with _Killian_?” Emma peered over at the man in question. The two of them had clearly been communicating today while Emma was off the grid. She took a chance and looked him directly in those pretty blue eyes again, really looked, and noticed the red rims, the bags. The guilt was too much, which just made her angry again, and the vicious cycle continued. God, she couldn’t continue like this.

“He needs to stay at your house.” Emma snapped.

“Not well, then, I see?” Ruby’s voice fell, increasing the guilt-anger sucking hole of _what the fuck is happening_.

“He’s coming to your house, OK? He needs to crash and his phone is dead.”

She snorted. “Yeah, dead from calling you all day.”

“Ruby. I can’t do this right now. Confirm to me that he’s not going to have to sleep in his fucking truck outside my house. Right. Now.”

“Send him over, sweetheart.”

Emma hung up, once again missing the angry snap of a flip phone.

“Kay, Jones, you’ll be fine. Ruby’s waiting.”

He nodded, shoving his hands into the weirdly small pockets of his leather jacket as he spun on his heel.

“I really am sorry.” His voice was low, gravelly, and just on the edge of breaking. He didn’t even turn back as he said it.

She was not going to cry. Nope. Not crying.

Instead she slumped back on her couch, unable to stop the curiosity at what messages her phone contained. Opening these was going to be like falling down a rabbit hole, she was sure of it, but she couldn’t stop.

Most of the messages were more of the same. Lots of _I’m sorry_ and _please forgive me_ and _just talk to me so I can explain_.

But the last one seemed different.

_Killian: Well my phone is on its last leg, Swan. I don’t know where you are or if you’ll ever give me the privilege of your lovely company again, but just in case I needed to tell you. I know I can be a bastard – really, I always could – but you made me better. And I lost my way for a bit, hellbent on getting my revenge on the world for what just one person did to me. The truth is, I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of that loss, of my darkness – that is, until I saw you again. My very best friend. You brought me home. So even if you never forgive me, I still owe you a great deal of thanks. And here’s my promise: I won’t lose myself again. Even if I’ve lost you._

Before she could stop it, a tear fell straight onto her phone, streaking down the screen. Embarrassed, she brought the phone to her chest to wipe it clean.

Fuck. Well that changes things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks for reading! I appreciate every single one of you taking the time to read my story. I'd love to hear what you think. I was hoping to get a little more into their backstories by this chapter but it seemed too forced, so I didn't push them. But I'm so excited for the next chapters, which, by the way, will be much less full of screaming. The next chapter is called "Sugar High" and I can't wait to share it with you, hopefully by Thursday or Friday.


	6. Sugar High

Emma could be a coward. OK, maybe not a coward, but definitely an _avoider_. Emotional situations, or even circumstances that posed any risk of becoming an emotional situation – those were absolutely not her forte. Which is why it was Wednesday morning and Emma had still not talked to Killian.

She hadn’t been _wrong_ , exactly. And she didn’t necessarily have to say she was _sorry_. Because he _was_ a jerk. She wasn’t overreacting about his blatant assholery. It had not been OK. But after reading his very last text message – the one he’d sent from her front steps when he had resigned to the fact he might have already lost her – she’d decided she was going to forgive him. That decision had come easier than breathing. The hard part was going to be telling _him_ about it.

Killian hadn’t tried to contact her since she kicked him out Sunday night (not surprising considering her absolute conviction that he leave her the fuck alone). What was surprising, though, is that Ruby hadn’t brought it up at all. They’d texted briefly a few times, mostly just about planning their lunch with Ashley, but she hadn’t once made a snarky comment or even the smallest reference to the whole mess. In other cases Emma would have been glad of this – more specifically, she’d be glad of it if she truly didn’t want to talk about it (which was usually the case). But just this once, Emma was praying that Ruby would bring it up, give her some information about how Killian was feeling, prepare her for what his state-of-mind would be when she reached out. If his previous texts and calls and face-to-face pleas were any indication, he would be happy to hear from her. But there was still the remote possibility that her three-day silence had been enough to make him give up again and any attempt at reconnecting with him would lead to nothing but another comment about her apparent inability to keep her legs closed ( _ass_ ).

“Watch where you’re going, lady!” a disgruntled voice choked out through the open window of a beat-up red truck.

_Oh, great_. Emma had been so consumed with her thoughts on how to discretely bring up Killian to Ruby, she’d almost died before she ever made it to lunch in the first place. The distance between Granny’s and Emma’s office was only three blocks – just two streets to cross – but apparently Emma couldn’t manage it without a goddamn body guard.

She made it to Granny’s without further incident, the doorbell jingling to signal her arrival to Ruby and Ashley.

“Over hear, sweetheart!” Ashley called, patting the seat next to her, as if Emma might not have recognized her in the not-so-crowded diner.

“Where’s that handsome boy of yours, Ash?” Emma asked as she plopped down in the seat, doing everything she could to avoid making eye contact with Ruby. _Should have asked her about Killian through text. Fewer judgy looks that way._

“Daddy’s got him today, thankfully. I feel like I haven’t talked to a grown up about anything other than children and their breakfast order in, like, a hundred years,” Ashley said, unconsciously rubbing the swell of her stomach. “I needed some girl time.”

“Well here we are! It’s too bad Elsa and Belle couldn’t make it,” Emma said with a sympathetic (but disingenuous) nod. It’s not that she didn’t like them. Belle was honestly one of the sweetest people she’d ever known. A bit too trusting, but truly a good soul. And Elsa was one of her best friends, of course. But she was feeling selfish today and didn’t want to chicken out of her questions. A bigger crowd could cause her to clam up.

The girls started chatting about their jobs – Ashley being careful not to complain _too_ much since it was always very possible her boss might be right behind her. Ruby had just opened a clothing store that featured some of her own designs, so she was very busy but was experiencing a kind of pride she’d never known before in her life.

“I see people in town wearing something that started out as an idea in my head and then a drawing on a piece of paper and then I made it _exist_ , you know? I can’t explain how rewarding it is and just… awesome.” Ruby’s eyes were brimming with unshed (happy) tears, something Emma had never seen in her life. Ruby was a hard-worker and got shit done whenever it was needed – she’d been the best waitress Granny ever had – but when she was truly passionate about something she was unstoppable. But this – _this_ seemed like it was the thing she’d always been meant to do.

Emma longed for a similar passion, and knew in her heart that a certain _someone_ might have reminded her recently what that might be.

“I actually think I might have found my passion, too. I mean, not that I’ve actually successfully done anything, but Killian reminded me the other day how I’d always wanted to, and I really think I might try it…” Emma trailed off, watching the not-even-kind-of-subtle shift in Ruby’s expression as soon as she said his name. She really had wanted to share with the girls how she was planning to apply to become a CASA advocate, but it was clear immediately she wasn’t going to get the chance.

“Oh, really, Emma? _Killian_ said?” Ruby teased with a stern voice but and a playful quirk of the eyebrow.

Emma’s eyes dropped to her nearly untouched French fries as a deep blush spread across her pale skin.

“Oh my god, are you guys a thing?!” Ashley squeaked with wide (but strangely unsurprised) eyes. “I always thought you guys just kind of _worked_.

Emma blushed even deeper. _Damn her ghostly skin_. “We are _not_ a thing. We are friends. Or, well, we were. And then he was a jerk. And then I – well, I was very unforgiving of his jerk-ness. And now… I, uh, decided that I still want to be his friend. But I haven’t actually told him that yet.”

“Really, Em? At what point did you decide this?” Ruby was looking far too entertained and Emma wanted to just reach across the table and smack that stupid grin off her face. _Bitch_.

“Stop being mean, Ruby! Just… tell me what he said about me so I know what I’m getting into here.”

Ashley was feeling lost, so Emma caught her up on what had happened, leaving out the sordid details of why exactly his _whore_ comment had cut so deep (everyone knew she’d slept with Graham; very few people knew it wasn’t strictly consensual or that it had been her first time). Emma continued her story through her phone call to Ruby and her _booting out_ of Killian.

“…which is where Ruby might be able to shed a little more light on the matter,” she finished.

“No, there’s got to be one more thing you’re leaving out. An important part,” Ruby said, taking a big bite of her dill pickle slice and laughing a little as some pickle juice dribbled onto her chin.

“You mean the part where I changed my mind?”

“That would be the one.”

Emma groaned, reaching into her purse to pull out her phone. She didn’t give a word of context, just opened up the conversation between her and Killian, and read aloud the final message he sent.

Ashley was impressed. “Could he be any sweeter?”

Ruby was unsurprised. “Yeah, he read that to me. Through tears. At 2 am when I _should_ have been sleeping but instead was babysitting a grown-ass man.”

Emma felt guilty but was _not_ going to apologize. She didn’t do anything wrong, and she certainly wasn’t going to suggest she had. “How was he when he went home?” Emma exhaled, her shoulders slumping. The weight of the conversation was getting to be too much.

“He was OK. Sad. He certainly doesn’t expect to hear from you again. He thought you’d already read those messages and still didn’t care. He said he meant it, that he really was going to stop being such a Grade A Douche.”

“Well what should I say to him?” Wow, could this sound any more like high school?

“Just say what you think, sweetheart.” Ruby had finally stopped mocking her and perhaps was even exhibiting some general sympathy for her. “He would do just about anything to be your friend again. And some other things, too, but I’m betting you’re not quite ready for _that_ yet.” Ruby stage-whispered that second sentence, but Emma ignored it, anyway. Ruby always saw _sex_ where there wasn’t any. _Boys and girls can be just friends, Ruby_ , Emma had said on more than one occasion. _Talk to Harry and Sally about that, darling_ , was always her response. She was wrong, of course, but this wasn’t the time for _that_ conversation.

“I know that. I mean how do I start that conversation? Should I be funny or sincere or keep acting like I’m kind of mad but I’ll get over it eventually or…” Granny came over to clear their plates at that moment, interrupting her as she confirmed Ashley’s upcoming shift switches and asked Ruby about if she’d gotten her security system checked at the new store.

“No, Gran, I figured I’d just have you sit outside with your damn crossbow. Of course I had it fixed before I opened! This might not be the big city, but I’ve got treasures to protect in there, nonetheless.”

They kept bickering for several minutes, so Emma excused herself to the bathroom. She’d managed to drink three glasses of water, so a trip there was overdue, anyway, but she also wanted a minute to just _breathe_. Splash some water on her face. Reapply some lipstick.

Lipstick. _Shit_. Her purse was still at the table. She didn’t look all that bad, plus who was she trying to impress, anyway? So she wet her lips with some water and rubbed them a little before pinching her cheekbones for color. _Good enough_.

Granny was just retreating when Emma got back, and judging by Ashley’s bright face and watering eyes she’d missed some entertainment. Ruby looked triumphant, so it looked like this round was won by the granddaughter.

Emma’s lunch hour was over in 7 minutes, so the girls said their goodbyes. Ashley let them both talk to her belly for a minute (which turned into a fight over who would be the favorite aunt) before Ruby paid the bill and saluted them, heading back to her store.

 

Emma had been ~~browsing Pinterest~~ working for an hour when her phone buzzed on her computer tower. _Shit_. She’d forgotten to silence it when she got back from lunch. She picked up her phone, expecting to see a message from Ruby (probably telling her to stop being a pussy and just text him), but it was a message from said _him_ instead.

_Killian: Not that I’m not happy to hear of it, but what’s changed, love?_

Oh, that bitch. Apparently that victory face she’d been sporting was less about Granny and more about Emma’s phone having a predictable password (what Sherlock fan had any password other than 7-4-3-7, anyway?).

Emma scrolled up, curious as to what she (Ruby) had said to him in the first place.

_Emma: Hey! I think we should start talking again and being friends and hanging out because I don’t totally think you’re a dickhead, after all._

Well that was straight to the point. Before she could craft an appropriate response, he texted again.

_Killian: Shit, that wasn’t Emma, was it._

_Killian: Ruby, give Emma her fucking phone back. I don’t need your help._

Her heart did a little flutter that he knew her so well – even despite their awkwardness and years of separation – that he knew it wasn’t her message. But it was her getting the messages now so she’d better stop him before he said something that upset her. Or embarrassed himself.

_Emma_ : _Killian! Hey, yes, it was Ruby who texted you but it’s me now._

_Killian: Well, hello, lass. Sending Ruby to fight your battles now?_

_Emma: Is this going to be a battle? Forgive me, sir, but I’ve forgotten my broadsword._

Emma was smiling brightly – too brightly for her to actually be working on _work_ – when she realized her boss was coming down her row of cubicles. She shoved the phone back in her purse (quickly completing the task of silencing it). He stopped at her desk and asked her a bunch of boring questions about her boring job and she answered them all sufficiently. Just when she thought he was about to head back to his office, he remembered that she’d mentioned (months ago) liking a certain band and he’d taken his wife to see that band just this weekend. The next 45 minutes were dedicated to the viewing of shitty cell phone videos, the reenactment of awkward dance moves, and – bonus! – an unintentional glimpse into the sexting life of her boss and his wife (seriously, who still has their notifications actually read out the message anymore?). At least it had been his wife he was texting and not his secretary or something.

Emma reached for her own phone as soon as the boss was fully out of sight, catching up on what she’d missed.

_Killian: I’d take you more as a gun girl, wouldn’t you say?_

_Killian: Because you’re so proud of being Amurrican, obviously._

_Killian: Or perhaps a bow & arrow like your mum!_

Emma laughed at the ridiculous turn their conversation had taken. When he joked like this it was hard to remember why she’d been so worried to text him in the first place. Guess she expected everyone to be _hard_ like herself.

One more unread message sat in her inbox, this one an image. Killian had drawn a set of stick figures, obviously meant to be the two of them, “swordfighting” with baguettes. The caption below read, “you always said that’s how you would settle an argument on grocery day.”

It was a comment she’d said years ago. And not even _to_ Killian, necessarily. Neal and Emma were making dinner for Killian and Elsa, and Neal didn’t understand why she’d purchased baguettes.

_“Have you ever seen even one person on a TV show go grocery shopping and not get a baguette? It’s a thing.”_

_“Who eats that much french bread, anyway?”_

_“Maybe they don’t eat them. Maybe they use them for jousting or to settle a dispute about who cleans the dishes.”_

Neal hadn’t even laughed.

 

_Emma_ : _But it’s not grocery day, Killian._

_Killian: Humor me, Swan._

 

Thursday and Friday were easier days. Her boss was avoiding her, not that she was surprised, so she was able to spend her working hours equally getting her work done as she did texting Killian. His messages were sporadic – you can’t text if you’re engine deep in a car, after all – but they were funny and happy and _easy_. Yes, she probably should have forced him to have a serious talk in which he promised to be a good friend and not an evil asshole, but she felt the promise enough laced in all his joyful messages. Did they really have to talk about it more?

 

Saturday she took Pongo for a walk (this time opting to stay in Storybrooke). She was just finishing her favorite loop – five miles long, mostly through the woods, passing by a few of her favorite places like the old toll bridge and wishing well – when Killian texted her.

_Killian: Good morning, lass! Are you enjoying your day off? I find myself called in for duty this morning against my personal wishes._

She was about to criticize him for calling something this late “morning,” but a quick glance to her phone revealed it was only 9am. Jesus, what the hell time had she shown up at Dr. Hopper’s? She might owe him a treat of some sort for dragging him out of bed so early on a weekend.

_Emma: I’ve been up for hours and already walked 5 miles. Pretty sure you can fix a few cars and get_ paid _for it, whiny boy._

_Killian: Well aren’t you an overachiever?_

_Emma: So what if I am._

_Killian: I feel like there’s an innuendo dangling there somewhere, but it’s too early for me to find it._

_Emma: Losing your touch?_

Killian didn’t respond right away, so he was probably already working. Emma and Pongo arrived at Dr. Hopper’s within a few minutes, a thousand apologies spilling from Emma’s lips upon first seeing the man (still in his housecoat). He assured Emma that he was an early riser and himself hadn’t noticed the hour she’d arrived for his dog, so at least she didn’t have to feel guilty about that.

 

It was a few hours after that, in between loads of laundry and a round of hot yoga, that Emma had the idea. Killian had told her he’d be working until around 2, meaning if she left her house right then she could probably make it to his place just in time for his return. The only problem: she didn’t actually know where he lived. _Welp, cross that bridge when we get there._

Emma grabbed her purse and her keys and started toward Emerald City, dialing Ruby as she backed out of her driveway. It would be a miracle if Ruby answered her phone _and_ remembered Killian’s address, but it was worth the risk. After all, if Ruby couldn’t help, she’d just call Killian and ask him once she hit town and he was off work. It wasn’t until she was halfway there that she realized he might have other plans. He hadn’t mentioned any, but it’s not as if they listed all they did in a day when they texted. Oh, well. She’d find out.

Ruby did call back and promised to text Emma the address Killian had sent her as soon as she hung up. Thank god for smartphones, because Emma just clicked on the message and the Maps app gave her perfect directions to his apartment. Ruby had instructed her where to park (it was across the street, so Emma never would have realized it on her own), and told her which set of stairs led to his door. It was 2:05 when she plopped down on the stairs, and 2:08 when she hopped back up, surprising Killian with a little wave as he crossed the street.

“Swan! To what do I owe this very pleasing pleasure?” He broke into a light jog, his bright smile and happy blue eyes evidence enough that it was worth it to make the trip. He opened his arms wide as if he were going to take her up in a bear hug, but he halted just a few inches from her, snapping his arms back to his chest.

“Sorry, lass, almost forgot about the car juices.” He held his blackened hands up as if she’d told him he was under arrest, and the giggle that spilled out of her mouth at his mock-innocence sounded foreign to her own ears.

“Come on up, but please excuse the mess. I wasn’t expecting to be entertaining again so soon.”

They started up the stairs together. She knew which door was his, but let him go first since he’d have to unlock the door. “Entertain _again_?”

“Why, sure. Our dear friend Ruby was here but a week ago. I gather you knew that, though, since she’s the only person I can think of who could have given you my address.”

“ _Aye_ ,” she said, imitating his accent.

He unlocked the door and cracked it, but didn’t open it enough for either of them to enter. He peered at her without fully turning his head in her direction. “Truly, don’t judge the mess.”

“Killian, unless you have the remains of a murdered hooker in there, I think we’ll be OK.”

“In that case, perhaps you should allow me a moment to tidy up a bit….” He feigned pushing her back toward the stairs, but she batted his arms away and barged straight in.

His place wasn’t nearly as messy as she’d assumed it would be. It mostly just looked like it belonged to a guy. Which it did. Clothes hung off various surfaces. Dirty dishes sat on the end tables. DVD cases littered the floor. Just the usual.

The only real surprise was the assortment of baby toys strewn about his dining room next to an adorable teddy bear-themed high chair. Killian watched her as her eyes raked over the scene, jumping quickly into the dining room with her as she shot him an incredulous glare.

“Before you ask, no I don’t have a secret love child. I babysit for my brother. You remember Liam? Of course you do, _all_ you girls loved him –“

“Of course we did! He was adorable and sweet, not to mention ten years older than us and therefore so sophisticated.”

“Well that sophisticated prat got himself a loving wife and they popped out a little boy late last year. You’re looking at that boy’s very favorite Uncle Killy.”

“Uncle Killy? That’s definitely the cutest thing I’ve heard today. But that’s not saying much since I spent most of my time today with a canine.”

“Pongo has some good ideas. Don’t sell him short!” Killian started scooping up the clothes laying on his couch, motioning Emma to sit.

“Well, love, I’m sure you’d prefer if I didn’t smell like motor oil and cigarettes, so I’m going to take a quick shower. I know your penchant for Netflix, so browse away.” He handed her his Xbox controller and showed her how to switch between apps, leaving her with an old episode of Supernatural to keep her company while he got ready for the day.

Not that she had any idea what the day was about to bring. She hadn’t thought of a plan on her way over – she just knew she needed to see him and have a Friend Day, whatever that might entail. Emerald City was bigger than Storybrooke. They had a mall and a movie theater and more than one good restaurant, so they shouldn’t have a shortage of things to do. Or she’d be happy sitting around playing Mario Party or whatever ridiculous games came with this system.

Supernatural started occupying more of her attention – she wasn’t even ashamed of how lost in Dean’s eyes she got when they did close-ups – so Killian grasping her shoulders a while later caused her to jump straight up, practically knocking over the 2-liter of Pepsi he’d left (without a cap) on his coffee table ( _men_ ).

“Perhaps I should have left you with a less scary show, lass? The demons seem to have gotten to you.”

“Oh, shut up, jerk. You just surprised me. No need for salt and holy water.”

“What about a sonic screwdriver?” He asked with a smirk and a pointed glance at his chest. She had finally gained enough composure to take in his spiky wet hair, brand new jeans, and, of course, the Doctor Who shirt he’d taken from her the first time he stayed at her house.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Really? What, are you just keeping it at this point?”

“Looks better on me, sweetheart.”

“Whatever you say, captain.”

“Don’t be sarcastic, little girl. I’m close to getting my license, you know. I really will be a Captain. So I’ll expect you treat me with proper respect.” He huffed his chest out, straightening his body into a soldier-like stance.

She laughed at him, rolling her eyes again as she plopped back onto the couch. He followed her lead, collapsing down on the other side. He kicked his legs up onto the coffee table and folded his arms behind his head, closing his eyes.

“You’ll take me out for a ride, then, Captain?” Emma eased back into the throw pillow, crossing her legs indian-style in front of her.

“Oh, lass, I think I’d much prefer you doing the _riding_.”

He didn’t even bothering opening his eyes to see her dropped jaw and disapproving glare, so she opted for smacking him instead. “Keep dreaming, buddy.”

 

They kept watching Supernatural for a while, Killian taking a tiny nap during the third episode, little snores rumbling as he drooled a little on the edge of the couch. Emma found herself appreciating modern technology for the second time that day as she opened up Snapchat to share this scene with Ruby. “Our fearsome pirate,” she captioned it and hit _send_. Her phone lit up a minute later with a notification that Ruby had taken a screenshot. Emma giggled darkly, finally stirring Killian from his slumber.

“Morning, sleeping beauty”

“Ah, _fuck_ , how long was I out?”

“One and a half demonic possessions, I’d say.” Emma was still chuckling, but Killian was too groggy to question its cause.

“All right, Swan, we have to get out of here. I have a proposition for you.”

“Go for it.”

“I think you know what I want…” Killian wagged his eyebrows somewhat obscenely, licking his bottom lip.

Killian wasn’t actually suggesting something dirty. He just wanted to make her _think_ he was going to. She knew this. But she still found herself blushing like a schoolgirl, the redness lighting up her whole body. _Ass._

“Killian,” Emma said warningly.

“Pixy stix, Swan! Get your head out of the gutter.”

 

After a brief squabble about who would drive, the two of them found themselves in the yellow Bug singing along to the 90s station on Sirius.

“I think we should take our show on the road, Swan. We make a good team,” Killian said between songs.

“People would probably pay us good… to _stop_ singing, anyway.”

 

Killian and Emma were on a mission. Giant pixy stix were hard to come by (and, no, it wasn’t acceptable to substitute a bunch of little ones for one giant one). They’d decided to start with the nearest grocery store, but they didn’t carry them. Neither did the gas station at the corner. Or the big department store at the front of the mall.

They were growing exhausted, but Emma was endlessly entertained by Killian’s desperate pleas to each cashier they encountered.

“We’ve come in search of giant sugar sticks!” He shouted as he burst through the front door to the next convenience store. “You there! Can you point me to them?” The young boy looked at Killian with confusion, probably worrying the man was drunk or on drugs or perhaps a recent escapee of the mental institution across the hill.

“Uh, what are you looking for?” The clerk’s eyes shot back and forth between Killian and Emma, Emma trying to convey a firm look of _please don’t call the cops; he’s fine_.

“Young man, I’ve promised this fine lass some giant pixy stix and I cannot leave her disappointed, you see. It’s bad form to leave a lady wanting. You’ll figure that out someday.” Killian winked, skipping – seriously fucking _skipping_ – toward the candy aisle.

“Killian, you haven’t even gotten sugar in you yet! Calm the fuck down,” Emma called, chasing him toward the back of the store. The cashier picked up his cell phone, probably preparing to call his boss. Or to video a possible nervous breakdown. Or robbery.

Killian’s eyes lit up, staring back at Emma. “Well apparently you’re just so sweet, I find myself not in need of candy deliciousness.”

He reached out and booped her nose with his pointer finger. “But it’s of no matter, for we have been successful!” He stepped to the side, dramatically revealing a display of three foot tall tubes of flavored sugar.

It was going to be a good night.

They bought two each – four different flavors – and got back in Emma’s bug (leaving the poor cashier with an extra tip for not involving any authorities).

“Back to your place?” Emma put the car in reverse, slowly making her way to the exit of the lot. They’d been all over town and she was a bit turned around. (Unfortunately) she would need him to direct her.

“No I’ve got a better idea! Turn left here.”

“And where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise! But first…” Killian held up the four pixy stix in the spaces between his fingers. “Choose one.”

Emma picked red (strawberry, maybe?) and he took blue. Emma started into traffic as Killian took the knife from his pocket, hacking off the ends of the tubes. He carefully handed her the red one at the next stop light, tipping his own toward her at the same time.

“Cheers, lass?”

“Cheers.”

Emma followed his directions, taking swigs of sugar every few minutes, until they came to what looked like an overgrown baseball field at the top of a hill.

Emma parked the car, locking it behind her even though there didn’t seem to be another soul for miles. Killian took her hand and led her to the dugout, motioning her to climb _up_ it instead of inside.

“Is this safe?”

“Would I lead you astray?”

“Probably.”

“Fine, sod _ladies first_. I’ll prove it’s just fine.” Killian used a rock and to boost himself high enough to swing his leg up over the roof, successfully hoisting himself up in one swift motion. He hadn’t even spilled his pixy stick.

Emma held her own (and the two extras) in one hand, Killian reaching down to take her other to help her up. She wasn’t quite as graceful as she’d have liked to be, but she made it up without any bruises, so that was a mark in the _success_ column.

Killian lay back against the scratchy shingles, patting the space beside him for Emma to follow.

“I can’t lie down and eat this at the same time.”

“Better finish it off!” Emma looked at his tube, realizing his own was empty. God, how many calories were in these? Ugh, _grown-up thoughts._

She let the remainder of the sugar fall onto her tongue, sucking it down slowly. Discarding the tube off the dugout’s roof toward the abandoned trash can, she noticed the definite shaking of her hands.

“Damnit, Killian, we should have eaten dinner. I’m fucking shaking.” Emma held up her quivering palm as evidence. He did the same, but his was steady as a surgeon.

“Guess you can’t hold your sugar, love.” He smirked.

They lay there for hours, talking about everything imaginable. Arguing about sports teams. Discussing the validity of religion. Wondering what their friends might be up to that night. Telling stories of the friends each had that the other had never met. Many of the subjects they came upon were serious, but the conversation was never _heavy_. In fact, Emma felt lighter than the sugar staining her tongue.

After finishing off their second round of pixy stix, they did their usual assessment.

“Ahhhhh,” Emma tilted her head up, sticking her tongue out a few inches from Killian.

“Yours isn’t so bad. Red and orange mostly makes pink. So you don’t look ridiculous.”

Killian did the same, except he leaned forward toward Emma, nearly licking her cheek.

“Stop it, you weirdo!” she squealed. “You _do_ look ridiculous. Blue and purple makes it look like you’re bruised or possibly ingested something toxic.

They fell into a laughter worthy of an ab workout, because _seriously how old are they_. But it didn’t really matter because who the fuck cares? They were happy.

The night fell and they watched the stars, Killian giving backstories for the constellations (only some of which were entirely made up).

“See, Swan, there,” he pointed to _Cygnus_. “That’s you!”

“I’m a constellation?” She scrunched up her face, closing one eye in a look of _nice try, buddy_.

“You are! It’s the swan, darling. You see, there was a pretty girl who had quite the attitude and some terrible things happened to her, but she made it through them all. Because she’s got such grace, of course. You know, swans have these feathers that water doesn’t penetrate. They float on the water and don’t let it sink them. Like you. So, anyway, this swan was just so awesome that Zeus was like _yeah we’re throwing this bitch right up in the sky to guide all the mere mortals on how to be awesome_.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but reached down and squeezed his hand just a little.

“Well this swan is glad you’re her friend, OK?”

“Of course.”

 

They hadn’t brought any jackets or sweatshirts and the night was getting a bit chilly, so they resigned to heading back to Killian’s house. Plus it was starting to get cloudy and therefore much less entertaining to stare at the night sky.

The ride to his house was fairly short – they had actually gotten closer to his house when they ventured to the baseball field – but it was enough that they had _crashed_. Emma slumped into the couch the second Killian had opened the door for her, kicking her shoes off and wrapping up in a blanket that had been thrown under an end table.

“Can I get you a drink?” Killian offered, pouring himself a large glass of water from the pitcher in his fridge.

“Waaaaater,” she whined. Sugar hangovers apparently took you down before you even went to sleep.

Killian poured her a glass as well and handed it to her. She downed it in a few quick gulps.

Emma murmured some words of thanks as he settled into his recliner.

“I. am. Knackered.” Killian grunted and curled sideways across the chair.

“You. Are. American. Stop. Talking. British.” Emma countered.

“It’s all English, sweetheart.” At that, Killian found a ball of socks in the cracks of his recliner and chucked them right at Emma’s head, hitting her square in the nose.

She tried to fight back, but couldn’t find the energy. He chuckled at her attempt, finally standing up to make preparations for the evening.

“Well, lass, it doesn’t appear we’re going to remain conscious much longer. I can show you to my room if you’d like.”

“That’s OK, I’ll just stay right here.” Her eyes stayed closed and she buried her face further into the old blanket.

He reached down for her, hoisting her whole body up off the couch. “No, lass, I insist.”

She squealed but didn’t fight back as he carried her like a child through his house. “I’ve carried rum barrels heavier than you!”

He dropped her down when he reached the door of his (very sparse) bedroom. Her sweatpants were folded neatly on his dresser, so he handed them to her and motioned toward the bathroom. “Go ahead and change. I’ll sleep in the recliner. It’s surprisingly comfortable.”

Killian walked away before she could respond, so she took the opportunity to wash her face, use the restroom, and change into her sweatpants. When she left the bathroom she went straight to the living room, stopping at the recliner he was curled in.

“Get up, idiot. We’ve shared a bed before.”

“I’m trying to be a gentleman, lass.”

“You’re my friend. We can sleep next to each other without anyone questioning your _good form_.” She reached down and took his hand again, tugging hard. She was stronger than she looked, and the force actually brought him to his feet.

“You barely even tolerate me, so I think we’ll be fine.”

“I actually quite fancy you when you’re not yelling at me.” He winked.

“Easy, tiger.” She scowled at him, but kept leading him to his room.

His bed was king sized, so they settled easily into their own sides of the bed, curling up against their respective pillows.

“Good night, Emma.” Killian was barely conscious so the words came out in a slur.

“Night, jerk.” Emma smiled, knowing he was probably already asleep or he would have objected to the insult. She drifted off to sleep, still smiling.

 

She woke up with that same smile on her face as she heard his gentle snoring across the bed behind her.

Not wanting to wake him, she grabbed for her (dying) phone, deciding to browse social media until he woke up or until the battery quit. She hadn’t paid much attention to her phone the previous night, so she hadn’t noticed the Facebook notification: _Killian Jones added a photo of you_. She swiped across the notification to open the app. What the hell photo would he have posted? The app loaded and a picture was revealed that she never even noticed him taking – Emma and Killian sat on the roof of the dugout, her eyes closed and head thrown back as she downed some sugar, while he smiled holding up his own. “ _Sugar high_ ” read the caption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit longer than I'd imagined, but I couldn't find a better place to split it up. And I really like everything that happens, so hopefully you're entertained, too! I really appreciate everyone who reads my story and I love to hear what you like and don't like, so comment if you're so inclined :) The next chapter is called "The Routine" and should be up by Sunday night.


	7. The Routine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really loving writing this story, so I hope you're enjoying reading it! This chapter is another longer one, but I'm really proud of the way it turned out. And we finally meet Liam! Let me know what you think with a comment - I love hearing your reactions.

Emma had scrolled through every new post on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and Pinterest and Killian was somehow _still_ snoring like a baby bear across the giant (and very comfortable) bed. She _should_ just let him sleep. She could slink off her side of the bed and tip toe out of the room, start making coffee and breakfast and maybe take Pete for a walk.

 _Pete_. Hmmm. Where the hell _was_ the dog?

Eh, fuck it. Killian had slept long enough.

Emma threw the blanket off her body – tugging it away from Killian in the process – and did a few barrel rolls toward him. His snoring ceased, but he hadn’t yet stirred, so she got up on her knees and gave him a few rough shakes.

“Mmmm, no, lass, let me sleeeeep.” Killian squeezed his eyes shut tighter, yanking his pillow out from under himself attempting to use it as a shield against Emma.

“Jackass! What did you do with your dog?”

“Emmaaaaaaa, he’s fine. Just go back to sleep,” he whined like the teenaged boy he’d probably always be in his heart when someone woke him before he was good and ready.

“But where is he? I thought you cared about him more than that to just give him to someone else.”

That struck a chord. The wrong one apparently.

“You seriously think I’d just give him away? Glad to see you have such a low opinion of me.” His eyes were dark and Emma was immediately regretful of her accusation. Is this how their friendship was going to be now, one of them saying something hurtful and the other apologizing? At least they were taking turns. (It was only polite.)

Killian exhaled loudly, almost coming out as a growl. “Actually, he was taken by _dog protective services_ also known as my big brother.” His eyes softened, almost looking like he, too, was regretful. “You obviously remember the day we took the dogs for a walk… well, it took me a grand total of 20 minutes to deeply regret my dastardly words and when I couldn’t get you to answer me I called Liam, crying and very drunk well before the sun went down. He didn’t trust me to care for the pup, so he sort of confiscated him until he thought I could be trusted again.”

Emma pursed her lips and lay back down on the bed, inching onto the other side of Killian’s pillow. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“’s not your fault, love.”

“I know. But I’m still sorry.”

“Thanks.” Killian brought his fist in front of his face, and Emma lifted hers in response, knocking them together in agreement. No more hurting each other.

“I’ll bet if I showed up with you, he’d allow me to take him back. What do you say? Grab some breakfast and I can follow you halfway back to Storybrooke? We can finish that walk I caused you to abandon.”

“Pongo will be sad he missed it, but I think he’ll forgive me.” Emma smiled and sat up on the bed.

“Then it’s settled! Off to Liam’s we go. But, love – ? Killian reached up and tilted Emma’s head toward him.

“Yes, Killian?”

“Please do not flirt with my happily married brother, will you, no matter how dashingly sophisticated you believe him to be?”

Emma narrowed her eyes, smirking mischievously. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were jealous.”

 

In the end, Emma didn’t make it over to Liam’s anyway. Since they were taking both of their vehicles to the Enchanted Forest, it was far more efficient for one of them to retrieve the dog while the other retrieved some _sustenance_. So Killian turned right toward Liam’s, as Emma turned left toward Taco Bell (“seriously, Emma, their breakfast items make me almost forget that I’m British”). They agreed to meet at the trailhead 40 minutes later.

Emma got there first, grabbing the takeout bag and hoisting herself up on the hood of her bright yellow car. She took a sip of Killian’s coffee before he got there (he’d never know) since she had been swayed by the bright splashy posters advertising fruit smoothies. She put Killian’s coffee on the roof and set her smoothie between her thighs and leaned back against the windshield. The morning sun was warm, lulling her back to sleep.

The rumble of Killian’s truck woke her from her little nap and she was thankful he probably hadn’t had a chance to snap a photo of her like she had of him the day before. Had Ruby mocked him about that snapchat message yet? She certainly would eventually.

Pete was doubly excited as he exited Killian’s truck – for Emma’s company and for the food in her lap – so he launched himself with full force onto her car.

“Killy, how exactly are you planning to eat and hold down that beast at the same time?” Emma asked through giggles, the dog nipping happily at her feet.

“I’ll work it out, love,” Killian said, jerking on Pete’s leash as he leaned toward her. “But don’t ever call me that again.”

“You got it, _Killy_.”

They ate their wraps and walked the trail, Killian stealing most of Emma’s smoothie on the way in retaliation for her coffee thievery. They stopped at the bridge and took a proper photo, a biker along the trail offering to shoot it for them. Killian hoisted Pete into his arms, the giant dog kicking wildly while licking Emma right in her face. Emma’s smile was so big it was almost cartoonish while Killian had a shit grin like you’d never seen before.

 

They fell into a routine easily after that day. They’d text during the day, but rarely, neither of them truly wanting to get in trouble at their jobs (they made exceptions for _emergencies only_ , like when Killian couldn’t remember who sang “Mr. Brightside” or Emma found a grape in her lunch shaped like Abe Lincoln). After work, they’d call each other to talk about their days while they cooked or drove or did chores or lay in bed before going to sleep. Fridays they’d have dinner, sometimes in Storybrooke and sometimes in Emerald City. Emma sometimes cooked (usually pasta) or Killian would buy takeout or Liam would send a frozen pizza along with the diaper bag when he’d ask Killian to babysit his son (Colin was the most well-behaved child Emma had ever met and his smile made her heart swell – for once with happiness and love rather than pain and _loss_ ).

And of course, every Sunday they would meet halfway, walking Pongo and Pete and picnicking afterward at the trailhead (Emma had insisted on sandwiches or other _real_ food that was neither sugar sticks nor fake Mexican – _your friendship is bad for my cholesterol_ , she’d said).

During one of those picnic lunches, Killian revealed that Liam had requested his and Emma’s company at dinner the following Friday. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on his turkey sandwich as he told her, his inflection never actually crossing into _question_ territory.

“… And you don’t want to go?” She asked, trying to mask her own fear that he was somehow still embarrassed of their friendship, a fear that hadn’t crossed her mind in the two months or so since the Miners’ Festival.

He tore his eyes from his sandwich and turned his head in Emma’s direction but still didn’t look her in the face. “I… well, I _do_ want to go. I think you’d enjoy it. And he’s right – you are spending an awful lot of time with his son despite never having met his wife. Or having seen _him_ in a damn decade.”

Emma nervously pulled at the ends of her ponytail, nodding in something like agreement. Killian wasn’t saying anything more, so Emma busied herself by reaching for the bag of dog treats, motioning Pongo and Pete to sit.

“I think I’m missing the problem, Killian.” She kept her eyes on the dogs, petting one with each hand until Killian yanked on one of her sleeves to catch her attention.

“I just… don’t want him to misunderstand. About us, I mean. Isn’t _meeting the family_ sort of a couple-y step? I know we spend a lot of time together, but I just don’t want to fuck this up because other people make it weird.”

Once again, Emma’s ghostly pale skin betrayed her emotions, blushing deeply all the way to her chest. She closed her eyes before answering him.

“Um, I mean, I – I’ve _met_ him. I _knew_ him already. I’ve known _you_ and we’ve been friends and it shouldn’t be a _step_ , but I don’t want you to feel like I’m trying to force you into feeling that way and…”

“Swan, I didn’t mean to upset you, I –“

“I’m obviously leaving it up to you,” Emma said resolutely. “It’s _your_ call, but I don’t know why it should weird you out. Honestly it’s probably weirder if we _don’t_ go to Liam and Jasmine’s.” She paused, smiling her most carefree-seeming smile (though Killian could probably tell it required effort. “I like food. And I love Colin. And, yeah, your brother is probably still quite the tasty eye candy, so … I’m in if you are.” She poked him playfully with her elbow, smiling up at him with her eyes bright and her mouth slightly open.

He smiled, shaking his head in disapproval (though she knew he was he was actually quite fond of her ability to lighten a mood). Before she could continue her teasing, Killian picked up a stray piece of tomato and threw it straight at her face. “Down, girl.”

 

Despite insisting that dinner with the Joneses was _not a step_ and _shouldn’t_ be a big deal and had _no_ significance at all, Emma was a nervous wreck for five days straight. Nervous, not because the event seemed girfriendly, but because the more people who were involved in her friendship with Killian, the greater the chance something would fuck it up.

That thought sent her into a panic spiral Tuesday morning at work when she realized it was the _exact phrase Killian had used_ and _how dare she have been so embarrassed when he said it_ because it just seemed so _obvious_ what he’d meant. They were happy with their routine, their conversations, their own little world where it didn’t matter what _shit_ was going on outside or who had hurt them in their pasts or what the fuck anyone thought about, well, anything really because they were _fine_. So far, the only time Emma and Killian had spent around other people had involved weirdness (the Miners’ Festival), and even their _virtual_ existence around other people had its own brand of weird (people really _did_ wonder if they were together since they’d started sharing Instagram and Facebook photos of one another). The only intruders to their friendship that truly weren’t a threat were two canines and a baby and it shouldn’t worry Emma so much, but that didn’t stop her from crying her makeup off in a bathroom stall during her midmorning break.

Her first instinct was to text Killian, maybe suggest they bail. But that was the coward’s way. There was no reason Liam and Jasmine would be anything but delightful. And, if anything, they might be able to add some joy to Emma’s life – two more fun, happy, genuine people (who also happened to not know/care about her miserable past). And, most importantly, she didn’t want to stop spending time with baby Colin, and the Joneses could easily start hiring a real babysitter on their Friday night date nights, leaving Emma sadly lacking baby cuddles.

Emma did decide to text Killian, but not to trick him into bailing. She went for some honesty instead.

_Emma: I’m nervous about Friday._

_Killian: Well I’ve heard it’s quite nerve-wracking to choose the outfit you intend to use to seduce your best friend’s married older brother._

_Emma: Shut up, ass, I’m serious._

_Killian: I know. I am, too._

_Killian: But we’re not going to fuck anything up._

_Killian: Unless we try to make pies again. We’d definitely fuck_ that _up._

_Emma: Shit. I should probably bring something Friday, shouldn’t I?_

_Killian: Nah. Liam made a comment about you and I sitting with Colin at the kiddie table, so I think we have free reign to be very un-adult for the evening._

_Emma: Got it. Thanks, jackass._

_Killian: Anytime, Swan._

According to Killian, Emma was free to show up at Liam’s anytime after work. Killian himself would already be there – he only worked until 3 while Emma worked until 5. He gave her very specific directions and a very specific place to park (attempts to ease her anxiety, no doubt), and asked that she simply ring the doorbell when she arrived.

Their house was quite beautiful, deep green with bluish shutters. The landscaping was neat but sparse – just as attractive as Mary Margaret’s yard, but in much the opposite style. Their front porch had a wooden swing hung from the far end (Marco’s handiwork?), and there was a smaller plastic swing just in front of that. Emma could imagine warm summer mornings or crisp fall afternoons, the Joneses all three rocking back and forth, just enjoying each other and warm cups of tea (and juice, of course, for Colin).

Emma rang the doorbell, hoping Killian would be the one to answer. She’d shot him a text when she was close so he should be expecting her – but he’d probably send his brother to the door just to see how flustered she’d get.

And she was right. Liam Jones opened the door looking just as heartbreakingly adorable as he had ten years before. He looked like Killian, of course – there was no denying their brotherhood – but with lighter, curly hair and the look of a _softer_ man. He looked like a gentleman where his brother looked like ~~an asshole~~ a pirate, and before she could stop herself she was throwing her arms around his neck in a _little sisterly_ bear hug.

“Ah, I’ve missed you, pretty girl.” Liam wrapped his arms around her shoulders, smoothing over her hair with one hand.

Emma laughed. “Your brother tell you to say that?”

“He may have mentioned you had a small crush a decade ago and suggested I use that to mock you. My statement, however, is entirely genuine, Miss Swan. Our home was always much better looking with you in it.” He pulled back, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders. “Now, first order of business: introduce you to my lovely wife.”

Liam started walking from the foyer, leading Emma through a dining room (already set for dinner) and into a long, narrow kitchen. Killian was wedged in the back corner, leaning against the fridge with Colin in his arms. He twisted to the side so Colin was facing Emma, picking up one of his little arms and waving it.

Jasmine emerged from the back pantry as Emma and Liam stepped into the kitchen. Her thick black hair hung to her hips, her eyes lighting up when she spied her new guest. She was walking toward Emma – _are you supposed to shake hands or hug?_ – when she suddenly stopped and looked very serious.

“Now, Emma. What are your intentions for my favorite brother-in-law?”

Emma’s face reddened and her jaw went slack.

But Killian jumped in before Emma could craft a response. “Jasmine! What did we talk about?”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I get carried away.” Jasmine took a step toward Emma, reaching her arms out. _OK, apparently you hug in these scenarios._

Emma stepped back from the hug, walking to Killian with pleading eyes. He chuckled in understanding, passing Colin to her after leaving a kiss on his forehead.

“She’s a bit obsessed with _true love_. Admittedly, I probably should have warned you that my brother was married to a damn Disney princess, but I try not to think about it myself.” He winked at her before opening the fridge to start on drinks.

After the initial weirdness, the evening started to run quite smoothly. Emma felt at ease with Killian’s family just like she did with Killian himself. More surprisingly she found herself glad to have another woman in the conversation. Not that she didn’t have her own friends to talk to – lunches and dinners with Ruby (and Belle, Ashley, and Elsa) were still part of her routine – but Jasmine was so light and joyful, almost like a more fiery version of Mary Margaret. And, no offense to her childhood friends, she appreciated conversation that never turned to gossip or, even worse, endless rehashing of years-old events ranging from the idiotic to the just plain _embarrassing_. Emma was appreciating living in the _now_.

Dinner was delicious (and full of ingredients Emma didn’t even recognize). Turns out Liam and Jasmine were quite the team in the kitchen, each having gained a wide range of knowledge about worldly cuisine in their travels. Liam had been in the Navy while Jasmine had traveled along with her CEO daddy, spending her time immersed in each culture rather than actually learning daddy’s business (which had been the point of her tagging along – _oops!_ she’d said with little sincerity).

“You’re telling me that you’re both world-class chefs, basically, but you only send along _frozen pizza_ when we watch your _son_?” Emma shook her head in mock horror as she started clearing the table. “I might have to rethink the quality of care I provide.”

Jasmine tried to stop Emma from cleaning, passing Colin over to Liam and standing. “We’ll remember that for next time. But sit down! I’ve got this.”

“Absolutely not. You cooked, so I’ll clean. Those are the rules.” Her stern voice did its job and Jasmine sat back in her seat.

“The dishwasher is empty, so you can just load it. Leave the food on the counter – I can put ingredients away after you’ve left.” Jasmine smiled appreciatively, but also with a sort of deep understanding. Emma wanted to help out, _needed_ to be an active participant in the evening to ease her own anxiety. She didn’t like people waiting on her like some damsel in distress. She liked to _earn_ stuff, keep it equal.

Liam wasn’t quite as understanding. “Brother! Don’t you think it’s awfully _bad form_ to be allowing the lady to clean alone?”

Killian rolled his eyes, making his way toward the game cabinet in the living room. “First of all, _she_ offered to clean. Not me. I’m all for cutting and running before I get tasked with _chores_. Second, I’m not about to try to make her do anything. Or _stop_ doing anything, for that matter. She’s a big girl, brother. Leave her be. And help me pick a game with which to defeat you.”

Emma was on her third trip when Liam finally stopped scowling and went to pick out a board game. Jasmine insisted on anything but Monopoly – the brothers got quite petty and the game took far too long, anyway.

They settled on _Life_ , Liam and Emma setting up the board while Killian grabbed another round of drinks and Jasmine put Colin to bed.

The brothers still managed to be petty, counting their money after every turn to keep track of which of them was winning. Killian huffed out his chest when he was elected mayor and Liam made quite the show of stealing Killian’s 100K salary card when he was granted a swap. Emma and Jasmine spent most of the evening laughing at them, truly having the _last laugh_ when the girls retired to Millionaire Estates while the boys could only afford the crappy retirement home.

With Emma’s hour-long commute looming, she indicated (with much disappointment) that she wouldn’t be able to play a second game. Liam offered her their guest room and Killian said she could always sleep at his place, but Emma had plans with her mother early in the morning and didn’t want to get up at _ass in the morning_ just to make the drive then.

The Joneses each gave Emma a hug before Killian offered to walk her to her car. “I’m always a gentleman,” he reminded her when she cocked her eyebrow and scowled.

They both leaned on the driver’s side of her Bug, smiling but exhausted.

“Are you sure you’re going to make it home, love? You’re not looking so good.”

“Oh, _thanks_ for the compliment.” Emma swatted at his arm with almost no real force, only serving to prove Killian’s point.

“Did you have fun though?” He looked honestly unsure of her response, which seemed odd given the way the evening unfolded – there wasn’t a moment she hadn’t been smiling, so much so that her face was going to be sore in the morning.

“Of course I did! I can’t say much for the rest of the world, but I really don’t think being around _them_ is going to fuck us up in any way.”

Killian looked unconvinced. “Well, I wasn’t lying about Jasmine’s whole _true love_ thing. She’ll probably try to lecture us eventually about why we’re not dating. She called me 3 minutes after I posted that picture of us on the dugout and left a lengthy voicemail about how pretty you were – she’d stalked your page since my picture didn’t show your face well enough – and asked if you were the girl from some of Liam’s stories. _Wouldn’t that just be the cutest story if you ended up together_?” His imitation of her female voice and American accent was eerily spot-on, distracting her from the actual topic of conversation for a moment.

She recovered quickly, though. “It’ll be fine. You’ll meet someone and come to family dinner with hearts in your eyes and she’ll forget she ever wanted to match us up. Don’t worry!”

Killian nodded, looking even sleepier than she felt. “If you say so, Swan. Now please drive safely. I’m too tired to come visit you at the hospital if you wreck.”

She pulled him in for another hug, her head tucked under his chin against his chest. His heartbeat was strong and steady in her ear and she was, just for a minute, reconsidering staying in Emerald City.

He pulled back and booped her in the nose. “Promise you’ll stay safe.”

“Promise.”

 

The following Wednesday she went to her usual lunch with Ruby. She was telling her about the Jones brothers (and their adorably childish behavior), raving about how wonderful Jasmine was, giggling about how Colin had learned to fist bump, when Ruby had what could only be described as an outburst.

“Will you just fuck him already?” She shrieked, effectively silencing any conversations that had been occurring around them. Curious and/or shocked eyes were suddenly all resting on Emma (even though it was _Ruby_ who had shouted – people are so _rude_ ).

Emma was at a loss for words when Granny passed their table, grabbing Ruby by the earlobe and yanking _hard_. “Watch your language, girl. This is a _place of business_.”

“Sorry for the volume, Granny, but the sentiment was valid and the question still stands. _Emma_?” Ruby glared at Emma, expecting a formal answer.

“Please wait until I’m out of earshot, girls. And keep it _down_.”

Emma closed her eyes, very much wishing the black boots she wore were red slippers instead, so she could click her heels together and wish her ass out of this situation. But, much to her disappointment, she opened her eyes to Ruby staring even more angrily than before.

She took a breath before starting, knowing she was in for an argument. “He’s my _friend_ , Ruby. It’s not like that. Plus you slept with him so that’s kind of weird. But it doesn’t matter, because we’re _just_ friends.”

“Friends that spend more time together than some couples?”

“What couples are you talking about? Must not be super dedicated.”

“But you _are_ dedicated, aren’t you? And you’re so happy!” Emma tried to cut her off, but Ruby stopped her. “No, Emma, don’t bother denying it. For so long you were reserved and cut off and just generally down in the dumps – and don’t tell me I’m wrong or justify it or whatever because I get that there are _reasons_ you felt that way but it doesn’t matter. Killian made that stop mattering, Emma. It’s clear as fucking day. Give it a chance.”

“It’s not _like_ that! He doesn’t want me like that and I don’t want him. We’re just _fine_.”

And here we go: the reason she should have just kept her goddamn mouth shut. Letting people into their friendship was a wrong turn, and it hadn’t even actually happened yet. She didn’t need this mess – she’d just forgotten herself for a minute, caught up in sharing her stories. She’d forgotten the risks.

Ruby stared, her eyes full of opinions and theories and god knows what else. “Fine, Emma. If you’re friends just like everyone else, then bring him out this weekend.”

“What’s happening this weekend?”

“Nothing, just a weekend. Just people – friends, strangers, whatever – going out and sharing drinks and talking. Victor and August will be out of town, so no romantic anything. Just. Friends.” Ruby was extending a challenge. A dare.

And Emma Swan didn’t back down from a dare.

 

She told Killian on the phone that night. “We’re going out with Ruby this weekend,” she said in response to Killian’s suggestion they try a new restaurant in Emerald City.

“Oh, are we now? When did this happen?”

“I meant to text you after lunch today. Ruby basically suggested that if we were _real friends_ we would hang out in groups like normal people, so I agreed to going out with Elsa and her. And whoever else they’re running with these days. She said there’d be other guys, but it’s not their boyfriends. So I’m not actually sure who, but oh well. We’re doing it.” Emma was folding laundry, squeezing her phone between her chin and shoulder. She was agitated and therefore trying to talk with her hands, causing her to drop her phone.

“Swan!” she heard from the floor. She shouted a string of expletives in response as she bent to retrieve the phone. _At least she hadn’t been cleaning the toilet_.

Killian was quiet, letting her swear to her heart’s content. Finally she switched back to coherent sentences.

“I don’t like being questioned like that. We’re _fine_. Right?”

“Of course, love. This won’t change anything.”

But his voice was uncharacteristically shaky.

 

Really, she should have seen this coming. Ruby wouldn’t have extended the challenge if she didn’t have a plan. A _plot_. If Emma had stopped and thought about it for five fucking minutes she might have figured it out and stopped it and _this is so not what she needed tonight_.

Killian had gotten to the Rabbit Hole before Emma. She walked inside, greeted by Ruby shrieking from a booth in the back. There were empty shot glasses littering the table already – by the math they each had done at least 3, though it wasn’t impossible that someone had been a little greedy. Or pushy.

There were five people already at the table: Ruby, Elsa, Killian, and two other guys Emma didn’t immediately recognize.

“Emma! You’re here!” Ruby called, reaching across Killian to try to grab her hand. “More shots!” she wailed, the bartender immediately started preparing another tray in response.

“You buying, Rubes?”

“You know it!”

Emma slid into the other side of the booth, eying the new guys next to her. They might have been vaguely familiar? Probably had seen them tagged in other people’s photos on Facebook or something equally _grapevine_.

“Oh! Introductions are in order,” Elsa shouted over the thumping music. “This one here is Graham’s cousin Felix. He’s not from here.”

Felix nodded and waved, seemingly uninterested in speaking.

“And this guy is Jefferson. He was a few years ahead of us in school. His daughter Gracie is in your mom’s class this year!”

“Hi, Emma. It’s so nice to see you. Gracie just loves your mom.” Jefferson was almost devastatingly handsome – he looked like he belonged in a Marvel movie for God’s sake. But his demeanor was gentle – seemingly not a guy with an ego.

“Gracie and I have that in common.” Emma reached out to shake his hand.

The drinks kept flowing, Ruby seemingly the drunkest, as everyone chatted and chose jukebox songs and even danced on and off. Ruby spent some time talking to Killian and Felix while Elsa mostly spoke with Jefferson and Emma. The music was too loud for all six of them to carry on a conversation together (one that made sense, anyway). Killian came over to dance in front of Emma a few times – they exchanged words about having a good time and _maybe we should have gotten some food before this_ , but Ruby seemed to be dead set on keeping Killian and Emma apart.

It was only a few songs later that Emma finally realized _why_.

Elsa was dancing in the corner with Killian and Felix, the bright pop song warranting a lot of jumping and bouncing and spilled drinks and sweaty hair. They seemed to be having fun and Emma was happy, but the drinks were making her a little woozy so she went to sit down. Jefferson joined her, talking pleasantly about their jobs and his daughter and about the joys and pains of life in Storybrooke. Nothing too serious, of course, and nothing too _real_ – she didn’t really know this guy, after all – but it passed the time.

Her level of drunkenness must have been a bit higher than she’d imagined because she hadn’t noticed the signs, the signals he was sending her. His hand was on her thigh, his other hand playing with the ends of her hair. After she said something particularly witty, he just sort of smiled and then leaned across the table, tilting his mouth toward hers.

He was hesitant, searching her eyes for permission, but it took her too long to recognize what he was asking for her to form an actual response.

Before she knew it, his lips were on hers, moving slowly, sweetly – it wasn’t unpleasant (she did miss kissing) – but she knew immediately she still didn’t want to be doing it.

He was a good guy with good intentions and she didn’t want to be rude, so she eased back as slowly as possible, looking him straight in the eyes apologetically.

“You don’t actually like me, do you?” he asked more bluntly than she’d expected.

“Um, no. I’m really sorry, but I don’t really even know you and I wasn’t looking for anything, and – “

“No, no, Emma, it’s OK. I mean it’s not OK, but don’t worry about me. I’m not the… issue here.” Jefferson seemed like he was no longer at ease in his own skin, grimacing like he was watching someone else in pain. His eyes were fixed on something behind her, so she turned around, only to see the exit door swinging back and forth.

“Jefferson, what am I missing here?” She’d started shaking already, knowing something massively uncomfortable was ahead of her, whatever that might be.

He finished his drink and looked her in the eyes, sympathetic to her drunken confusion. “Ruby pulled me aside, not too long ago. That last time I was up getting a drink. She told me that _you told her_ you thought I was ‘adorbs’ and she thought I should go for it. And, well, you’re beautiful and sweet and I wasn’t about to argue…”

He paused, seeking forgiveness for his mistaken forwardness.

“It’s OK, Jefferson. But you said she told you I talked to her?”

“Uh, yeah. And it’s clear you _didn’t_. I think she wanted to make you realize something…”

And that’s when it all fell into place.

 _Killian_.

She whipped her head around so fast she was going to be sore in the morning, searching the seedy bar for signs of her best friend. He and Ruby were (conveniently) missing. Elsa and Felix continued to dance in the middle of the floor among a sea of other acquaintances, seemingly unaware of any potential drama.

“I’m so sorry, Jefferson, I had better – “

“Of course. Uh, before you go – I think Killian must have seen... what I did. He didn’t look like he was mad at me, though. Or you. But he looked pissed at Ruby? I’m not sure. I’m so sorry. Again.”

Emma nodded and ran out the front door, not quite sure what to do next. _Kill Ruby_ was her first instinct, but Elsa had once warned her that there wasn’t any Netflix in jail so she’d better just calm her shit and figure out a better course of action.

She tried calling Killian. Straight to voicemail.

She tried calling Ruby. Straight to voicemail.

She tried again and again, but nothing changed.

Where to next? Maybe they went to Ruby’s house. Maybe they moved on to another bar. Or went to the beach. Or the park. Emma was overwhelmed with possibilities, so much so that she mostly just wanted to collapse and cry. So she resigned that she’d do just that – just wait until she reached her house first.

God, this was _not what she needed_. Ruby’s meddling, Killian’s (possible?) anger, that broken look on Jefferson’s face when he’d realized he’d been played… it was all too much. The ridiculous guilt she felt was going to break her, and who would she have left then? She didn’t want to go back to before.

 

After a long stumbly walk, she was greeted with the familiar sight of a shiny black truck in her driveway. _Had Killian driven it?_ He was certainly in no shape to be driving.

She broke out in a sprint, launching herself up her stairs and ripping open her front door, shouting for him before she’d even made it inside.

“Yes, yes, I’m here. Jesus fucking Christ do you have to be so _loud_?” He sat up from the corner of her couch, looking a complete mess. He still wore the clothes from the bar, but the shirt was stretched out like someone had been using it to pull his whole body. He had dirt on his jeans (and now on her couch. Thanks, _ass_ ), and his hair was messier than she’d ever seen it.

Emma wasn’t sure where to start. “Um, where did you go?”

“Well, love, first I was going to go for a little walk. But then I was interrupted by the goddamn devil and had to have a row with her. Then I decided I couldn’t take it anymore and wanted to just _go home_ but, you know, didn’t feel like getting a DUI or killing anyone or anything, so I just drove here. I mean I assumed you’d stay at Jefferson’s and I could just bolt as soon as I wasn’t drunk anymore.”

Killian wasn’t _quite_ leaving stuff out but also wasn’t exactly spilling, either. And Jefferson had been right – he only really seemed mad at Ruby… so far, anyway.

“The devil… meaning Ruby?”

“Yeah, _that one_. I _knew_ she was acting way too drunk for the amount of stuff I’d actually watched her toss down. Was she always such a manipulative _bitch_?”

“Uh, kind of? Usually she has good intentions or doesn’t really hurt people, but – “

“But not this time, right? Why are you even here?” Killian ran his fingers through his hair again, closing his eyes with defeat coloring his face.

“I just wanted to find you. When you left…”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about me, love. Everything is fine.”

It wasn’t though. He really was trying to act like it was. He wasn’t mad at her ( _lie detector_ , remember?). Even though it seems like this all stemmed from him being mad _about_ her? Emma still felt lost.

“Killian, here’s what I think happened. I think Ruby wanted to make you jealous. And make me, I don’t know, _open my eyes_ or something. Just please… please don’t be fake with me. You don’t look fine.”

He curled his fists into the blanket in his lap, grunting in frustration. “Well I’m not! I mean I _am_ because I won’t let this get in the way. And you’re _allowed_ to kiss whomever you so desire. And I want you to be happy. I _do_ – more than anything. But I don’twant to _see_ it. I can’t, really. And Ruby _knew_ that. Well, she suspected anyway. She’d asked me on more than one occasion. And I didn’t even lie! But I said that it wasn’t what you wanted.”

“What didn’t I want?”

“Us, Emma. I mean _us_ like being a couple as us and not just being friends. We are still _we_ no matter what, I get that, but I wish _we_ were different and I didn’t want to see you kiss someone else. I have before, of course… long ago – but we were different people then. And _this_ you, the glorious, wonderful woman in front of me… I have to keep myself from kissing you at least three times every day we’re together.”

Emma didn’t move. She barely breathed, listening to Killian go on. Her heart was beating like the wings of a fucking hummingbird it was going so fast and she couldn’t decide if she was happy or scared shitless and maybe it was both and _why did Ruby do this_.

Killian continued, “I’m sorry that I’m putting this on you and I’ll regret it tomorrow and I wish I had somewhere else to stay to unburden you, but I’m not staying at that bloody harpy’s house so just leave me on the couch and I’ll behave in the morning as if nothing ever happened.”

His last few words came out in something of a sob and Emma noticed one small tear falling from his beautiful blue eyes. He was easing himself back on the couch, attempting to end the conversation.

And Emma could let him. She could go to her room, go to sleep, and wake up behaving like everything was _fine_. She could let him fake his way through their friendship. She could ignore that she knew she was causing him pain.

Except that she _couldn’t_ and _wouldn’t_ and _oh fucking shit_ what does this mean?

Emma closed her eyes, exhaled deeply, and kneeled next to the couch. She gently touched her hand to his face, her thumb swiping away the lingering moisture.

“Killian?”

His lips twitched but he kept his eyes firmly shut.

“Killian.” Emma moved her thumb to his eyebrow, pushing up until his eyelid was fully wrenched open. “Come to bed, jackass.”

“Emma, it’s fine, just –“

“That wasn’t a question, pirate. Come on.”

She stood, taking his hand and pulling him with her, the room spinning just a little. ( _God, she’s never drinking again.)_

When they got to her room, she pushed him toward her bed and picked her pajamas up off the floor. Once he lay down, she quickly changed behind her closet door, throwing the evening’s smoky clothes into a pile. She moved to her bed, leaning toward the nightstand once she sat down over the covers, reaching for a hair tie.

Killian tugged at the back of her shirt. “Leave it down?”

“Why, so you can tug on it when you want my attention?”

He smiled sleepily. “Maybe.”

She slid to the middle of the bed and lay down, facing away from Killian but inching backward until her back met his chest. He responded immediately, bringing his hips and legs flush against her. She reached back for his arm, bringing it over her body to wrap around her waist.

He threaded his fingers through hers and she hummed in contentment. Or in drunkenness. Who was she kidding? It was so the first one.

He moved their joined hands to a stray piece of her hair, using both their fingers to gently tug. “Are we gonna be OK, love?” Killian asked.

“We’re going to be _fine_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is called "Tipping Point" and it should be up by Friday. It's kind of a big chapter, so I want to do it justice - a lot of blanks will finally be filled in.


	8. Tipping Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how I feel about this - mostly because I'm not confident in my dialogue-writing abilities and this chapter is very dialogue-heavy. But it's an important one so I hope I did it justice. Love to hear your thoughts, good or bad! Thanks for reading :)

Emma woke the next morning to the sound of a rolling groan against the back of her neck. Her head was pounding and her mouth felt full of cotton ( _she’s **never** drinking again_ ), but beyond that she was blissed out from the most comfortable few hours of sleep she'd gotten... probably ever. If only the incessant groaning would stop keeping her awake.

Killian squirmed as Emma realized what had woke her – not the sounds of the man behind her, but the chirping of his phone across the room.

“Killian, for god’s sake, just answer your phone. Or shut it off,” Emma whined, adding a few extra syllables to the last word. “Or I might smash it against the wall.”

He buried his head deeper in her hair and tightened his grip around her waist. “It’s just going to be work and then I’ll have to drive to fucking Emerald City and fix cars for 6 or so hours and I don’t wanna.”

The phone stopped chirping just long enough for Emma’s eyes to droop closed… before starting up all over again.

“Killian Jones, go answer your goddamn phone! And get us some asprin. And some water. Please.” Emma turned just enough to catch Killian’s eyes, smiling as sweet as her hungover muscles could manage.

He mumbled what was probably a colorful string of profanities before softly touching his lips to the back of Emma’s head and rolling away from her.

“I thought you turned that thing off,” Emma said as he retrieved his phone from the floor and stared at it in his hands, waiting for it to start chirping again.

“I had it off but then I got worried you’d need me so I put it back on. Great idea, clearly.” He rolled his eyes and answered the phone this time before it even rang.

He left the room – Emma could hear him grumbling from the bathroom where he was probably trying to find asprin – and, for the first time since waking, her brain finally registered what had occurred the night before.

_Shit_.

What to deal with first? Probably killing Ruby. That was the easiest first step, since she wouldn’t be dealing with _any_ problems this morning if not for her obnoxious meddling.

Emma was just scooting herself off the bed to go find her phone when a very cranky Killian reentered her room.

“And just like I thought… I’ve been summoned, love. But here.” Killian handed her a very tall glass of water and two small pills.

“You listened!” She smiled softly, gulping down the pills immediately. “Sorry you have to work, though. I thought they promised you today off?”

“Smee is calling it an ‘emergency’ and he promised I can have Friday through Sunday off next weekend in repayment, so I suppose I’ll take it.”

Killian’s expression shifted, morphing suddenly from cranky-but-comfortable to ready-to-crawl-out-of-his-own-skin. He exhaled on almost a cough and reached his arm up to scratch behind his ear.

“Uh, I best be going, love, but perhaps I could call you or… come back later? We certainly have some things to… discuss. Only if you truly want to – I, I was genuine when I offered to, um, let it go.”

_Shit, shit, shit._

Don’t take the coward’s way out.

“Yeah, of course – um, you work until 3? Why don’t I just meet you halfway. Then you don’t have to drive quite so much.” And, of course, it’s neutral ground. But Emma didn’t want to sound like she was expecting a battle (other than within herself).

This didn’t have to be a fight. But it _was_ going to be awkward. No matter how it played out, it was going to involve stumbling over words and tiptoeing around each other’s feelings and it’s _good_ that they were like that, that they _cared_ about each other, but that was the problem, wasn’t it? Emma didn’t like talking about her feelings, and whatever was between her and Killian… well it certainly wasn’t nothing, and she was going to get the fuck over herself and talk to who she couldn’t deny had become the single most important person in her life. _Shit._

Killian was slow to react, but started nodding when she finally looked him in the eye. “Aye, that’s a good plan. 3:30 then, at the Enchanted Forest?”

“I’ll see you then.”

He looked at first like he might hug her or touch her shoulder or kiss her cheek, but the awkwardness won out in the end, and he just ran his hand through his hair, spun on his heel and left.

God, she was going to need a lot of water. And bacon. And maybe a fairy fucking godmother to come _poof_ her problems away.

 

Well she might not have a fairy godmother, but she did have her adoptive parents and they promised to make her bacon if she came over for breakfast that morning to “talk it out.” Her father had added something that sounded suspiciously like _before you go doing something stupid_ to the end of that, but Emma chose to ignore it… mostly since she didn’t really have anyone else (she trusted) to talk to at the moment.

She _did_ , however, have people she most certainly did _not_ trust trying to talk to her nearly constantly.

_Ruby: Will you please call me?_

_Ruby: You know why I did it, Emma._

_Ruby: You can stay mad at me all you want, but you know it was for your own good._

_Elsa: I’m so sorry, Emma, I didn’t realize that’s what she was trying to do… I hope Killian is OK. He won’t answer my apology texts either…_

Emma silenced her phone, but kept it in her pocket as she neared her parents’ front door – she didn’t want to be blindsided with any more drama from the Storybrooke lot, and she didn’t want to miss out on anything from Killian that might suggest a change in their plans.

The smoke alarm was blaring from the kitchen at her parents’ house, the mouth-watering smell of bacon wafting out the open window.

“I’m pretty sure that’s crispy enough, dear,” she heard her father say.

“Well, _now_ it is. Just go fan the alarm, will you? She’ll be here any minute.”

“Already here, Mary Margaret!” Emma called in response. “Smells delicious.”

Emma opened the door, her father immediately coming over to embrace her, his hand stroking over her hair and cradling her head.

“All right, sweetheart,” he said, pulling her back to look her in the eyes. “Let’s talk about it.”

Emma shook her head just a bit too hard, jostling her still-pounding brain. “Nope, I need at least 4 strips of bacon before I’m going to start discussing _anything_.

The three of them sat down to breakfast, eating their pancakes, bacon, and eggs mostly in silence. They exchanged some words between bites about the weather and the food and Regina’s upcoming picnic and other non-touchy subjects, but it wasn’t until Mary Margaret and David had fully cleared the table and they’d moved to the sitting room that Emma decided to open up.

Her parents waited patiently while Emma tried to find the words, until all she could get out was, “I don’t know where to start.”

“Well, honey, you said it was a problem with Ruby and Killian. Are they fighting?”

“Yes, definitely… but it’s more than that. It’s me – I, well, it’s _about_ me, and… Ugh. I guess I’ll just start from the beginning.”

Emma told them Ruby’s outburst, the _challenge_ she’d extended, and everything that happened the night before at the Rabbit Hole. David scrunched his face up at the _kissing_ part, and Mary Margaret wasn’t too keen on the amount of alcohol seemingly consumed throughout the evening, but they absorbed everything she said – they didn’t question or lecture her, just let her get it all out.

“So Killian had to leave this morning for work, but we left it on a weird note,” Emma finished. “I’m meeting him to talk at 3:30 and I don’t know what to say.”

“What do you want to say? Don’t overthink it! What’s the first thing that comes to your mind?” Mary Margaret asked, reaching her hand over to grasp Emma’s.

“That I’m sorry. I feel like it’s my fault Ruby pushed like that. And the only person it really _hurt_ was him.”

“But that’s not your fault, sweetheart. It’s not as if Killian had confessed any feelings to you before. And you’d made your fears about your and Killian’s friendship quite clear. It wasn’t Ruby’s place to force you into this conversation.” Mary Margaret said with pure compassion in her eyes.

“But,” she continued, “the fact still stands that you _are_ forced into the conversation. So, again, what do you want to say to him?”

Emma stared off out the window, watching the birds dancing at Mary Margaret’s birdbath. They looked so happy. Carefree. Like the highlight of their fucking life was splashing around in two inches of water. _Must be nice_.

Great, now she’s jealous of a bird.

But David brought her back to reality. “Emma?”

“Oh! Sorry. Yeah. I don’t know what I want to say. I know he’s my favorite person in the world who isn’t legally related to me. But I don’t know if I want to be with him. I don’t… I just don’t know.”

Mary Margaret and David looked at each other knowingly, stifling some gentle laughter (which, of course, made Emma go red with anger).

“What?!” Emma shrieked, standing up from her chair.

It was David who spoke. “Uh, honey. I don’t want to shock you here. But you’re _already with him_. I know this because he’s a smart guy and a perfect gentleman and yet I still deeply hate him. And I think that only happens to a father when it comes to his daughter’s… relationships.”

_Excuse me_ but if one more person suggested she was leading him on, she was going to just start setting people on fire. He was her best friend, yes. They spent a great deal of time together, yes. He made her happy, he made her better, he made her…

“Emma. Please don’t panic,” Mary Margaret interrupted her thoughts. “What your father means is that you _would_ be together. Because you’re almost there. But those walls of yours… I understand where they came from. You had tough beginnings and then… well you had some tough stuff to deal with as an adult, too – and those walls of yours may keep out pain. But they also keep out _love_.”

Emma twitched on that last word, one she never imagined having any relevance in a non-family relationship again. “I never said I loved Killian.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you did. I’m just saying you’re afraid of something changing what the two of you have. Which is something _great_. But, sweetheart, it could be even _greater_.”

Emma looked at the clock. Still only 11am. She rapidly deteriorating into a shaking, sweating mess, and she was still over 4 hours from even _seeing_ Killian.

It wasn’t until her dad reached over and picked her up that she realized she’d started crying. He put an arm behind her shoulders and another behind her knees, sweeping her out of the sitting room and into her old bedroom.

“Shh, baby, it’s OK. Shhhh.” He rocked her a little back and forth and lay her head on the pillow. “Why don’t you get some sleep? You’re exhausted and hungover and I think you just need a little break. I’ll wake you whenever you want.”

Emma really was exhausted. God knows what time she actually made it home last night, 3 or 4 maybe? At this rate she was going to end up passing out in her car before she ever made it to the Enchanted Forest. So she gave in.

“Thanks, daddy,” she mumbled, already on her way to sleeping.

 

She dreamed of pixy stix and board games and Killian’s face buried in her hair.

 

On her drive to the Enchanted Forest, she tried to practice what she wanted to say. She imagined him repeating what he said the night before and how she wished she’d have responded, but the only thing that came out of daydream-Emma’s mouth was silence (and some weird hiccupping.. not sure why). So she tried asking herself the harder questions. Do you like Killian? Do you want to be with him? Or, as David said, are you _already_ with him and too idiotic and stubborn to even accept it?

It’s incredible the things a person can hide, even from themselves.

That fact became glaringly obvious the second her eyes met his. He was standing next to his truck in the parking lot – no signs of grease anywhere, so he’d clearly worked in a shower somehow. His arms were crossed over his chest and one ankle crossed over the other and his hair was ruffled and his deep blue eyes looked like the ocean after a fucking storm and has he seriously always been that good looking and why did no one alert her if he had?

At first his eyes flashed with something like happiness – he was probably surprised she didn’t bail on him – but his brow quickly furrowed and his whole body went rigid. Emma took her eyes off him for a moment to properly park her car, then took three very, very deep breaths before getting out of the car. She was shaking, of course, and her face hurt from whatever grimace she must be making (probably what caused Killian’s distinct change in expression).

He tipped his body forward in a sort of half-bow when she emerged from around her car. “Afternoon, Swan.”

Should she say something funny? Or be sincere? Or cute? Or make a joke? How do you break the ice when you and your adult best friend are about to have a conversation fit for behind the bleachers at a high school football game?

“Hey,” she choked out, realizing her extended silence was probably getting weird. “So… shall we?” Emma took a step away from him, gesturing to the beginning of the trail.

He shook his head, pointing toward the bench just outside of the restroom. “Why don’t we just sit down here?” _How romantic_ – _toilet flushing does make great mood music._

She started to protest, but he cut her off. “I just don’t want to get down the trail and then have you run away from me. I mean, you’re welcome to run away from me – I’m not going to force you to stay or anything… I just wouldn’t feel right, you all alone and angry or sad or – I just… can’t we just stay close to the cars?”

His eyes were everywhere but her face as he stumbled through his reasoning and the hurt in his own eyes was barely concealed. He was fully expecting her to run away. Shut him down. Break his heart.

“Killian, I’m not going to run away. No matter what happens. Even if you call me a whore. Again. I’m not going to be a coward.” She already had a lump in her throat and so far they were only talking about the fact that they were _going to_ talk. God, it’s getting more _Dawson’s Creek_ by the second. _Lighten the mood, lighten the mood…_

“Don’t get me wrong – I _will_ punch you straight in the face if you say something that idiotic again.” She managed a genuine smile and he responded with one of his own. “But I won’t run.”

“In that case, ladies first.”

Emma breezed past him, the wind picking up at just the right moment to flood her nostrils with the smell of him. There’s that whole scent-linked-to-memory thing and one whiff of him calms her crazy nerves with flashes of easy afternoons, energetic walks, happy conversations, even his friendly affection that probably made her heart race all along even though she never acknowledged it before last night. But oh, it was certainly there. _Time to get on with it_.

“So. Killian. We seem to have gotten ourselves into a bit of a mess,” she started.

“Aye, that we did. And I’d like to start by apologizing – “

She cut him off with a sharp flick of her wrist. “Nope. No apologizing. Neither of us did anything _wrong_. Killian, I honestly think we would never hurt each other. Not intentionally. So we’re just going to throw out any of that shit floating in either of our minds. Go it?”

“Aye, _captain_ ,” Killian said sarcastically, glaring at her sideways and pursing his lips.

“That’s right, this trail here is my ship.” Emma saluted, quickly breaking out in almost-maniacal laughter. “I’m sorry, this is just too ridiculous. I don’t even know how to have this conversation.”

“Well, love, like you said. Keep the apologies out of it,” he said, popping the _t_.

“OK, so, we need to talk about our friendship and what we want that it to be.” The trail was busier than their usual time, lots of children and families and dogs and bikes and ears perking up at the obvious sight of an almost-couple having a very important conversation. Emma wanted to scream at everyone who glanced at them with curiosity. But now was _not_ the time. She should save all her aggravation up for Ruby Lucas and no one else.

“Our… friendship… can be anything you want, Emma. I just – I just like being around you. Like I said before, you make me better. And, contrary to what one might believe, I think – at least in small ways – that I might make you better, too. So. I’ll be anything you need… _want_ me to be.” Killian had to step in her direction to miss a toddler on a tricycle, but she didn’t cringe away. The invasion of space was welcome, and she even took an unnecessary step closer just because she wanted to.

“Well I think… no, actually I _know_ you’re right that we make each other better. I feel like – it’s almost like I’m not strong enough to face the world and all the stupid shit in it alone, but with you… with you I’m not worried about it.”

Killian’s fingers twitched against hers but he didn’t make a move to take her hand. He opened his mouth to respond to her, but it took him a few moments to gather the courage to say whatever was brewing.

“Love, that’s exactly how I feel as well. But… I suppose there are _other_ factors to consider. For example, those feelings for me manifest in such a way that I – well, my desires are further than just being in your presence… though, of course, if that’s all _you_ desire then I’d certainly settle for it – not that being around you is _settling_ … oh bloody buggering _fuck_ I don’t how to talk about this.”

It’s good to know she’s not the only one flustered by this whole situation.

“Killian, I’m not going to lie to you. I honestly hadn’t given _that_ much thought before. I think I was just… protecting myself, though? You know how scared I got that being around other people was going to break our perfect little bubble? I mean, yeah, you got nervous, too. My point is: I think it’s the same thing. I didn’t want our own feelings to be something else that could ruin what we had, what was _safe_ …”

Emma trailed off, taking in another set of deep breaths. She saw a bench a few hundred yards ahead on the path and made a note to stop them there. What was coming was going to require sitting down.

“Anyway, now that it’s been made obvious to me that apparently _I_ was the only person I was fooling with my ridiculous avoidance tactics, I realize that, yes, I like you. As in _like you_ like you and don’t be weird or mock how middle school this sounds because I’m nervous as fuck and – “

“I promise not to mock you, love. Especially not when it’s about your feelings toward _me_.” Killian winked and bumped her with his shoulder and they both chuckled because _seriously how old are they._

They were still a bit lost in laughter, the bench just ahead of them, so Emma pulled on his elbow and motioned toward it. He followed and sank down next to her, allowing a respectable few inches between them despite her very recent admission of not hating the idea of them being close. He was still a gentleman with _good form_ , after all.

Emma didn’t know how to start _this_ part of the conversation, so she stared down at her hands, pulling at the beds of her nails and threading and unthreading her own fingers until Killian started to speak.

“I am glad that you do _like_ me,” (He threw her another smile) “and what we are to each other already is certainly much stronger than a simple crush, to be sure, but what I _don’t_ want to be is the thing you use to _hide_ from the world. Like you said, we’re stronger together. And that’s what I want to be – the person you face the world _with_ , the person you seek comfort with…” At that, he reached down, steadying her hands and taking one into his own.

His hands were warm and steady. Apparently just like he could hold his liquor and his sugar better than her, he could also hold his _emotionally draining conversations_ with greater poise. She stared for a moment at their interlocking fingers before looking up to meet his gaze, finishing his thought for him: “and that means no hiding anything from each other. Including those things we keep pretending don’t exist.”

This is the moment her flight risk should kick in full force. She hasn’t actually spoken of the skeletons in her closet with anyone since just after she came back to Storybrooke. People close enough to her knew not to ask; the rest just resorted to asking someone else. Until it died down at least. And as for Killian’s skeletons, it doesn’t worry her for a second that they might be _too much_ for her – she’s just worried they might be too much for _him_.

Killian closed his eyes and let the words spill: “Emma, you healed me. I swear I didn’t just use your friendship to forget. You patched my wounds. But I think it’s time you actually knew what those wounds were. And I knew of yours. If – I mean, if you’re ready. I know… I know that Ruby forced us into this, so I’ll wait if you want. But it’s not something we can continue to avoid for the rest of…”

Emma was well aware he was going to finish that thought with “our lives.” As in, _we’ll be together for all our lives_. And yeah, _best friends means friends forever_ and all, but that’s not the sentiment he was going for, and _no_ she’s not panicking which is sort of making her panic.

“Emma, you’re shaking. Do you want to walk back to the cars?”

She gripped his hand firmer, straightening herself as if preparing for court rather than a conversation with her (probably-going-to-be-boy)friend.

“No, you’re right. Let’s get this out. I’ll go first.”

“Are you sure, love?”

“Yes.” She took her other hand to cover their joined ones. “Let me get it all out before you say anything, OK?”

He nodded, and she began. “You knew me and Neal. We were never really that great together. We had fun, would get in trouble together, but we broke up a lot, and honestly I’m not sure how I ever thought that was going to work as an adult relationship. But I thought I loved him. I mean he was the only person in my life that was loyal to me _before_ I got adopted – it was almost like I assumed it was fate. Anyway, we kept going like that, on and off and on again, until he finally put together some money and bought a house in Boston. For us. I went along with it and we were OK for a while, but it never totally made sense. He mostly just worked odd jobs. I’d been a bail bondsperson, which paid well but wasn’t always predictable. And the city was crazy expensive.”

At that Emma paused for a minute smiling darkly, shaking her head. _How had she gotten herself into such a mess_?

“I started to realize that he must have been doing something illegal. But that realization didn’t come until after – after I found out I was pregnant. He was really excited. I think he truly wanted to be a dad. So I tried to turn the other cheek, hope for the best for the family we’d have, but he – the baby only made him worse, really. It was drug smuggling, it turned out, and it made a lot of money and I guess he justified it by saying it was for the _baby_ and not his own selfish reasons. By the time I was six months in, I’d had enough. I broke up with him and was going to move back home to figure out what I’d do from there.”

Her voice broke and Killian pulled Emma tight against him, wrapping both arms around her. People were staring at them, surely, but Emma didn’t have the energy to care.

“I didn’t leave fast enough. I guess he fucked up a shipment? I’d been sleeping in the guest room for probably a week at that point – he knew we were done but that we were going to have to be OK with each other for the kid – when his bosses or rivals or someone broke into the place. I’m usually a little quicker on my feet but I had a belly and I’d been asleep and… they dragged me – they held a knife to my throat, threatening him. He tried to _do_ something – he did care about me, but he was in too deep. Anyway, I broke free and tried to run outside, but another goon caught me and flipped me over a railing, sending me off a ledge and into a ravine. I broke my leg – and lost… my baby.”

Killian didn’t respond, just held her. He nuzzled his face into her hair, skimmed his fingers down her back, just let her be broken for a minute.

“It had caused quite a racket, to say the least, so several neighbors had called the cops. They had enough on Neal to lock him away for years. So I still had to move home. Cope with what I’d lost on top of literally not being able to bathe myself for a while.” At that she chuckled, easing herself back from Killian’s strong embrace.

Most of the story Killian had probably been able to work out himself from the rumors and news articles and the fact that Neal was still in jail 4 years after the fact. But the baby thing… that he wouldn’t have known. She thought telling him the story (all the painful details) would break the happy spell, somehow – take away his ability to make her world brighter with a single glance. But, like seems to happen all to often in her life, she was very wrong.

The way he was looking down at her – despite the mascara stains and the shaking and the terribly ugly past – he was looking at her like she was the brightest fucking star in the sky. He had a new, honest kind of sympathy in his expression, but there was something freeing for both of them now that her walls were coming down.

Rather than ply her with words, he simply returned the favor and starting letting down his own.

“It was two years ago now, I think, that everything blew up with Milah. She was older than us – only by a few years – and she was just so new and full of _adventure_. She had a fire in her that was nothing short of addictive. Things turned serious with us pretty fast. She had that way about her, like everything was all or nothing. We were at that point where we were joking but not _actually_ joking about getting engaged. Well, there was a party and these guys who apparently knew her from wherever she came from (I honestly didn’t know much of her backstory), and from overhearing their conversation I learned that my dearest soon-to-be-betrothed was, in fact, already married. I was angry, but more than that I was _hurt_ and when I told her as such she lashed out. Violently. She slapped me, kicked me, started taking a bat to my car, before turning it on me. I wasn’t fighting back because, you know, ‘never hit a lady,’ but I was bleeding and bones were on the verge of breaking. Finally I took her by the wrists, just to get her to drop the bat. She bolted after that. The next day the police came knocking, arresting _me_ for assaulting _her_. She showed her husband the bruises on her wrist – entirely defensive bruises might I add – and he called in all kinds of favors to get me locked up _fast_. And he got me convicted for it, too. He was a powerful man. I spent a very quiet 28 days in jail for that.”

Emma reached her hands up to cup his cheeks, rubbing her thumbs gently beneath his eyes as if to rid him of the dark circles for which she was partially to blame. They sat like that for quite some time, curled up on the small bench. He’d tucked her head under his chin and they’d both closed their eyes, exhausted.

Emma finally broke the silence. “I’d call it a tie.”

“What’s a tie?” Killian asked, still serious.

“Oh, didn’t we just play a game of _who’s more fucked up_? Cause I’d say we’re tied.” Emma sat back further on the bench, worming out of his arms and instead taking just one hand again. She stood, yanking him with her, and he finally cracked a smile.

“Aye, love, I’d say you’re right about that one.”

Emma started walking them back toward their cars, trying to stifle her nervous laughter as she swung their hands between them. “So what do you think, Killy? Are we too fucked up to be together for real?”

Rather than answer her, Killian tugged on their joined hands, pulling her back toward him with force as his other hand reached behind her waist to rest on the small of her back. He stopped her just inches in front of him, smirking as he stared straight into her eyes like he could see in them every thought she’d ever had. She felt suddenly drunk and lighter than a feather and scared as fuck and holy _shit_ he was going to kiss her.

His eyes flickered back and forth between her eyes and her lips several times, seeking permission. She nodded ever so slightly and he leaned forward, closing his eyes as he tightened his hold around her back.

When their lips finally touched it was like being struck by lightning – but only if lightning also felt fuzzy and fluttery and like pure fucking _magic_. It was slow and chaste, barely any pressure at all, but Emma had never felt something so strong in her whole life. It was the kind of kiss that broke curses or sealed promises or spoke the words of a thousand novels and holy fucking _shit_ she was kissing her best friend.

She did always appreciate action over words. But that didn’t stop her from speaking when he gently pulled back: “I’ll take that as a _no_.”

“Take it as an _I don’t give a fuck because I’m going to be with you anyway_.”

“Good,” she said with a knowing smile. “But I’m still killing Ruby.”

“I won’t stand in your way.”

“Nuh uh, Mr. Jones. If you ever plan on being with me, we’re in this together.”

“As you wish, my Swan.”

 

The next day when they met at the trailhead for their usual walk, they secured their dogs and interlaced their fingers and kissed sweetly on the mouth before starting down the trail.

At that moment another Sunday morning regular, Walt, was heading toward his car to go home.

“It’s about damn time!” he shouted, causing them both to blush.

_Oh, the things we hide from ourselves that we can’t even hide from strangers._


	9. The Royal Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one, but I love it!

Emma was having a harder time keeping her phone in her purse these days. Since the events of the previous weekend she found herself unable to stop wondering what Killian was doing, how he was feeling, what song he was listening to on the radio, even what kind of sandwich he’d packed for lunch. It was ridiculous. _Ridiculous_. They weren’t suddenly new people just because she finally had the inevitable epiphany that they (already had been) more than just friends. But it had been taking more energy than she’d realized to ~~entirely avoid~~ reign in those thoughts in the first place. So now that her brain was finally free of those chains, she apparently no longer had any form of impulse control at all.

_When the dam breaks, it breaks **hard**_.

Was it really only a few days ago that they finally faced their feelings for each other? On the surface nothing about their relationship truly changed. With the exception of some easy affection – hand holding, cheek brushing, a couple of (very) chaste kisses – their usual Sunday walk had gone no different than the rest. Monday was similar: brief texting throughout the day and a casual phone call before bed.

But by Tuesday Emma was going a little crazy, wishing she wasn’t days away from seeing him again. They hadn’t even really _kissed_ yet. Their lips had touched in the sweetest way, their bodies had held each other close while they slept, but she’d done nothing to express the passion she was now painfully aware of pumping through her veins. Why was Emerald City so far away? (And more importantly when did she become so fucking _needy_?)

Emma stared at her phone instead of her Excel document, trying to come up with a valid reason to text Killian, when the phone lit up with a new message.

_Killian: I’ve been thinking._

Emma started to giggle but covered it with a cough, looking around to see if anyone noticed her obnoxious schoolgirl reaction. She should _not_ be practically humming with contentment about how adorable it was that they were thinking of each other at the same time. _Get your shit together, Emma. Learn some fucking chill._

_Emma: Good things, I hope?_

_Killian: Oh, always._

_Emma: Care to share?_

_Killian: We need a first date, love._

_Emma: Don’t you think we’re a little past that by now? We’ve gone out and cooked each other food dozens of times. What’s left?_

_Killian: Well, something a bit more… magical._

_Emma: Trip to Disney World? Pretty please I wanna ride Space Mountain._

_Killian: No, even better than that._

_Emma: You just let a perfectly good innuendo opportunity slip past. Are you feeling all right? Or did someone else steal your phone?_

_Killian: I’m trying to be a gentleman, Swan! It’s all part of the wooing process. You best used to it._

The thought of Killian _wooing_ her had her simultaneously rolling her eyes and feeling some very deep butterflies in the pit of her stomach. Though, of course, it was unnecessary on his part – did you really need to _woo_ someone who already couldn’t stop thinking about you all day long?

_Emma: Killian, I’m not a damsel in distress or some idiot girl at a bar you have to trick into climbing into bed with you._

_Killian: No, you’re a princess. MY princess, I should hope, after I take you to the ball._

_Emma: Is that a metaphor?_

_Killian: No, Swan. I’m being serious and you’re being a complete buzzkill. But I have to get back to work. Call you tonight. Better take off your cranky pants before then._

Work was dull as ever and certainly not enough to distract her for the rest of the afternoon. She occupied some time wondering what the hell “ball” Killian could be talking about. Maybe the Rabbit Hole or some other sleazy bar was having a sort of costume deal? Though it was months until Halloween. Maybe he meant something about literal “balls” and they were going to go to the sports complex? She had mentioned how fun Bumperballs looked (even though it was for children). Maybe he’d bribed the place to let the grownups have a turn in the _Bubble Boy_ \- style contraptions.

Somewhere after her _ball_ wonderings and an extended conversation with a toner salesman about the merits of _Seinfeld_ vs. _Friends_ , she received a rather surprising phone call at her desk

“Emma Swan,” she answered in her most detached, professional voice.

“Jesus, girl, that doesn’t even sound like you.”

_Ugh,_ Ruby.

“How did you get this number?”

“You know very well I know how to loosen some tongues. Usually using my own.”

“And what would your dearest _Victor_ think?”

“Who do you think I asked? His brother is your boss.”

_Of course_. Then again, she could have just busted down Emma’s door, grabbed herself a snack from Emma’s fridge, and plopped down on Emma’s couch, refusing to move until she got her to talk. Technically, this was a pretty _tame_ intrusion (by Ruby standards).

“What do you want, Ruby?”

“What do you think, _future Mrs. Jones_?”

“First of all, _no_. Second of all, don’t be patting yourself on the back so fast. I’m still plotting a way to get away with your murder.  And I’ve got a willing accomplice. As I am at _work_ right now, I can’t use my full vocabulary to express my anger to you, but what in the _hell_ were you thinking? You embarrassed poor Jefferson, you made Killian so angry he drove off drunk and could have killed himself, and me… well you put me in a place I wasn’t ready for and I very well could have taken it out on Killian AKA the very last person who would have deserved – “

“But you didn’t and he didn’t and Jefferson is fine (I talked to him after and I’m getting him a _real_ date with Tink) and I just needed you guys to wake up and smell the berry flavored lube and fuck each other already.”

“Ruby! I didn’t – we… that’s not –“

“But you will. And you’re welcome.”

“Listen, I have to go. But I’m legitimately still furious with you. I don’t appreciate being manipulated by people, especially those I thought I could _trust_. Maybe I’ll get over it someday, but don’t expect me to just let it go because no one actually died. You risked a lot that Wasn’t. Yours. To Risk.”

She hung up, slamming the receiver so hard that the stoner a few cubes down actually slid his chair into the aisle to shoot her a confused expression.

“Damn salesmen,” she said, shaking her fist and scrunching her face animatedly.

 

If there was one thing Emma hated, it was running. She’d prefer to walk or bike (or maybe just sit at home eating onion rings), but it was the most efficient kind of cardio and she was feeling out of shape, so after Killian texted to say he’d be working late she’d figured _what the hell_ might as well get some training in for the unlikely event of a zombie apocalypse. (Or the all-too-likely event of Pete getting off his leash again as he had a few weeks back – Emma’s panting had been louder than the dog’s once they caught him, leading to some pretty relentless teasing from Killian about _how is a girl so little so terribly out of shape_.)

It was all these factors that led to Emma standing huddled under a lifeguard chair in the middle of a torrential fucking downpour. So, yes, she probably should have checked the weather before she went. But at least the rain had washed off all the sweat, right? The rain let up as quickly as it had started, dwindling to a slight drizzle after just a few songs in Emma’s earbuds. When it had slowed down enough that the phone strapped to her arm was no longer in danger of sustaining permanent damage, she finished jogging back to her house, cursing herself the whole time for not springing for a gym membership or at least a simple weather app.

She was dying of thirst when she burst in her front door, not even bothering to kick off her soaked shoes before shuffling into the kitchen and pouring herself a glass of water from the pitcher in her fridge. She downed it in a few gulps and refilled it again. It was somewhere around the third glass of water (how dehydrated _was_ she?) that she heard a knock at the door.

_If this was Ruby she was getting punched in the face._

But it wasn’t Ruby.

“Good evening, fair maiden, I have come to extend to you an invitation –“

Emma didn’t let Killian finish what was certainly a _very_ prepared speech, instead just launching herself into his arms.

He’d been dry (so it must have stopped raining now that she was inside… _of course_ ), but he certainly wasn’t going to be anymore. Emma had her arms wrapped tightly around Killian’s neck, pressing her very wet body into his still-greasy t-shirt, probably leaving behind an Emma-shaped outline. She was barely still standing, just the tips of her toes still touching the ground, when Killian finally lifted her up entirely, dragging her fully inside and out of the unseasonal chill.

He set her down and pulled back to look at her face (which was certainly twisted some form of a goofy, ridiculous grin), but Emma wasn’t having it. She moved her hands from around the back of his neck to caress his face, pulling him down toward her.

His lips were smiling when they touched hers and she let out a little chuckle (he was probably feeling overly victorious but she was too happy to worry about the effect she was having on his ego). The kiss continued sweetly, like their first couple had been – light brushes of lips that shot sparks through her damn soul – but it slowly developed into something more. Killian’s hands moved to rake through her pony tail and stroke her still soaking back as she opened her mouth just enough to swipe her tongue across his bottom lip. He opened his mouth in response, tilting his head to the side as he slid his tongue against hers. If their first kisses were like lightning, this one was a fucking meteor strike and Emma could barely keep herself standing. Killian must have felt her faltering and let his hands drop to her hips, pulling her even tighter to him. They stayed like that for a few minutes, kissing like the world might be ending as they gently swayed back and forth, forgetting every single problem in either one of their lives.

It was Killian who pulled back first, leaving her with a trail of light kisses from the corner of her mouth to the space below her earlobe, chuckling once again as he felt Emma shiver (she wouldn’t even try to pretend the shivering was a result of her soaked clothing. It was Killian, _all_ Killian).

“Happy to see me, I presume?”

Emma laughed, mostly thinking how it was going to be her facial muscles that would be the most sore in the morning, despite the extended run, because the smile on her face was bordering on painfully bright.

“You could say that.” Emma batted her eyelashes somewhat sarcastically before mild embarrassment took over. “I maybe… perhaps, sort of might have… missed you.”

“While I appreciate the sentiment and am generally fully on board with the enthusiasm that accompanied it, you did happen to interrupt what I’d been preparing for the greater part of this afternoon.” Killian’s hands were still running up and down Emma’s back and he was looking at her like she was dressed for the Grammy’s and not looking like a red-faced, half-shaking drowned rat who had the elegance factor of a monkey in a tutu.

“I’m sorry. Would you like to finish?” Emma ran her fingers through Killian’s messy hair, using her nails to scratch behind his ear like he did when he was nervous.

He closed his eyes briefly, preparing himself or just enjoying her touch, before he pulled back to stand once again in her doorway.

“Good evening, fair maiden, I have come to extend to you an invitation to the Royal Ball of Emerald City, given by the Commodore Norrington, this Saturday evening in celebration of retired Naval officers of coastal Maine. Would you do me the honor of being my guest, princess?”

Emma stared up at him slack-jawed and wide-eyed like he was speaking Klingon rather than English. An _actual_ ball – who even did that anymore? She didn’t have anything fancy to wear. Did she need to know how to dance? You probably don’t do the _shopping cart_ at a fucking ball. And if there was dinner… well she was going to have to watch _Titanic_ again just to remember the order in which you use your forks.

When 30 seconds passed before she made any effort to speak, Killian took her hands in his own, squeezing to coax her into a reaction.

“Swan, anybody in there?”

“You weren’t – I mean… are you serious?”

“Of course, sweetheart. I told you I was going to woo you! So my brother got us invitations. He, Jasmine, and Colin will be there. And Colin will be wearing a tiny little tuxedo, so you absolutely cannot miss that.”

Emma was still in a strange state of shock. _Maybe she was hit by falling debris during the rain and this was some sort of coma dream_.

Killian’s eyes grew worried. “Emma, please don’t panic and run. First of all, because you look exhausted and I’m not confident you’d make it anywhere safe before you passed out. But also I’m really not trying to scare you here. It’ll be fun and I’ll –“

Emma finally snapped out of it and interrupted his ramblings with a hard kiss. He responded immediately, brushing her lips with his own before sucking her top lip into his mouth. She smiled around his mouth and tangled her tongue around his, her hands gripping his waist. Emma tried to ignore the urge to drag him into her bedroom and rid him of his clothes – _let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves, here_ – but it was clear how much she craved this new closeness (and how did she ever be so near him without touching in the first place?).

“So is that a yes, love?”

“Of course it’s a yes. But, to be fair, you probably could have invited me to troll the garbage dump with you and I would have agreed. So…”

Killian pulled Emma into a tight hug. “Well good. I’ve got an actual invitation for you, but I think you knocked it onto the floor when you assaulted me earlier.”

“Ha! Guess I’ll try to control myself next time,” she mumbled into his shirt.

“Don’t you dare.”

Emma excused herself to shower while Killian used her hair dryer to get himself cleaned up from secondhand rain. He was waiting on her couch when she finally emerged – clean, dry, and clad in flannel pajama pants. They snacked on leftovers from Monday’s dinner (a casserole from Mary Margaret) while cuddled up watching some rom-com (Killian’s idea) on Netflix. They talked about her phone-call-assault from Ruby, his near-accident when a cat surprised him from under the tire well of a truck at work, even spent a few minutes discussing the menu for Saturday’s ball before they inevitably melted into occupying their mouths with other activities.

Killian had Emma pinned down on the couch, his elbows tucked under her arms to hold his weight off her, when his phone alarm sounded to remind him he needed to go home.

“Please don’t leave,” Emma whined as he sucked a mark into her neck just above her collarbone.

“I’m sorry, love, you know we both have to work in the morning.” _Kiss_. “I don’t want to go, but I _really_ don’t want to drive it at 6 am.” _Kiss_. “Plus I’d like to actually get some sleep, and I fear we’re trying a bit too hard to make up for lost time.” _Kiss_. “Not that I wouldn’t like to spend the whole night kissing you.” _Kiss_. “But I really _would_ like to avoid taking it further.” _Kiss_. “And I have very little self control.” _Long kiss._

Emma sighed, the sincerity shining through his beautiful blue eyes. He was trying to be a gentleman because she _wasn’t_ like all those girls he’d used in the years since Milah to drown his sorrows. And she probably halfway loved him already – she at least all the way _liked_ him and didn’t want to make him regret. And her impulse control wasn’t great. After all it was taking 150% of her current energy just to keep her hands from going under his clothes, and _seriously_ at what point did she get so fucking needy?

It had been years, actual _years_ since she’d even wanted anyone out of more than just fun and forgetting, and it had been exactly _never_ since she felt this absolutely on fire just from kissing.

They had to stop.

She moved her hands from around his waist to the back of his head, scratching her nails through his hair and pulling him down to kiss his forehead.

“Oh, fiiiiine,” she said, still stroking his hair. “No ravaging each other tonight.”

He feigned shock. “Why ever would you think I had any mind to be ravaging you, princess? I’m a gentleman, after all.”

“OK, fine gentleman, then I imagine I won’t find myself in a compromising position such as this one again?” Emma bent her knee between his legs, running her thigh along a very definite bulge under the zipper of his pants. _Just proving a point, of course_.

He jerked at first, clearly surprised at her boldness, then quickly shifted into pirate mode. “Oh, when I jab you with my sword, you’ll _feel_ it.”

Emma rolled her eyes and pushed him off her, causing him to fall backward into her coffee table (subsequently bumping the remote to select _Jake and the Neverland Pirates_ as the next title in her Netflix queue).

“Oi! Someone clearly likes it rough. I’m probably going to bruise.”

“Oh, somehow I think you’ll be fine.”

 

Emma was on her way to Emerald City that Friday for her usual dinner with Killian. She had suggested they stick to something super casual – delivery pizza and board games – so as not to ruin whole _romantic first date_ thing Killian had going for the following day. But she’d gotten 10 minutes out of Storybrooke when Killian called, drastically changing the plans.

“Evening, darling,” he said when she answered the phone. “Unfortunately I won’t be seeing you tonight after all.”

Emma’s heart sunk a little – she hadn’t seen him since Tuesday and even if she knew tonight was going to be full of _proper behavior_ and not hours-long makeout sessions, she still was craving his smile, his laugh, the flashes in his eyes when he joked or turned serious or just looked at her like she was the _princess_ he kept joking she was.

After that brief wave of disappointment crashed over her, she was left with a bigger wave of _pissed_. “Seriously, Killian? You couldn’t have told me that _before_ I fucking left town? Ugh!” She grumbled and growled, slowing her car to look for a place to turn around.

“Because you’re still coming to Emerald City, love.”

“And why would I do that exactly?”

“Dress shopping with Jasmine, of course!”

Emma already had a dress picked out, one she wore to a formal during college (she wasn’t about to _think_ about how many years ago that was), but it would be nice to get something brand new. Maybe a little more formal. Something Killian would like a little better. The one she’d been planning to wear was awfully plain, just a black dress with sheer lace at the top, a sweetheart neck, and a basic a-line skirt. It was pretty, yes, but it would be nice to get something _stunning_.

“And Jasmine knows about this?”

“She’s the one who asked, of course! But she didn’t have your number. I’ve given it to her now, but I figured you might ignore an unknown number and didn’t want you to get the whole way to my house just to be rudely sent away.”

“So instead you’re rudely telling me I can’t see you at all?” Emma stuck out her bottom lip in a childish pout, and even though he obviously couldn’t see her, she knew he knew what she was doing.

So he simply repeated back the words she’d said to him days before: “Oh, somehow I think you’ll be fine.”

 

Jasmine was over-the-moon excited to be shopping with Emma, which made Emma both very confused and stupidly happy. Confused because she’d shopped with her friends before, of course, and her mom, but it mostly always seemed like a _chore_. But to Jasmine shopping was an adventure, one she was delighted to share with Emma – hence the stupid happiness. Not because no one wanted to share things with her – she was well aware she had many people in her life – but Jasmine had an effortless way of making her feel so _special_ without it feeling forced or insincere. It’s what Emma imagines a sister might make her feel (on a good day) (if she had one).

 

The mall in Emerald City wasn’t fantastic by any means, but they had got options at least. The store they began with was a big department store, mostly stocked for the homecoming dances in the next few months. They were cute but mostly more frilly than Emma was looking for.

“None of these are going to make your man’s eyes bug out of his head, so we’ve clearly not found the right one.” Jasmine smoothed her hand over a flowy purple number with white embroidered flowers, shaking her head.

“Jasmine! That’s your _brother-in-law_ you’re talking about.”

“Well, Colin needs cousins and I’m not ignorant as to how children are made, Emma.”

 

After 2 more failed attempts at department stores, they headed to the one boutique in the mall complex, aptly named _Happily Ever After_. Jasmine unsurprisingly had a close relationship with the owner, a man named Abu.

After some small talk and introductions, Jasmine explained their situation.

“…so we need something that screams _princess_ but sort of whispers _bar wench_ at the same time.”

“ _Jasmine_!” Emma’s embarrassment level was definitely a 12 on a scale of 1-10, but somehow she was still thoroughly enjoying herself. She laughed nervously and blushed a deep scarlet, but Jasmine and Abu just acted like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Ah, yes, I’ve got just the thing for our dirty princess. It shall match the pretty blush of her cheeks,” Abu said, brushing the back of his knuckles against her face before disappearing in the storeroom.

Emma and Jasmine wandered over to the wall of accessories, quietly discussing which shiny baubles might look best with Jasmine’s dress (teal, wispy, almost middle Eastern) when Abu emerged again. The dress he held was deep red satin with a small waist and full skirt – almost ball gown-like except for the shorter length. The neckline was angled and very open (she was sure to be significantly exposed) and the “sleeves” were nothing more than small off-the-shoulder swoops of fabric.

It was perfect. Jasmine knew it, too, by the conspiratorial look on her face. She immediately went to haggling with Abu to get a reasonable price, and after promising to switch a few shifts with Abu’s wife, he agreed to something Emma could swing so she paid and got the hell out of there before she went spending more money she didn’t have.

Jasmine was driving them back to her and Liam’s house when Emma realized she didn’t actually know what Jasmine did for a living that she would have been switching shifts for. Jasmine had amazing stories, but most of them were related to her status as an heiress, not to her unique profession.

“Oh, sweetie, you thought I was just a trophy wife? I’m hurt.” She rolled her wide eyes, shaking her head. “No, I do have a trust fund and, yeah, Liam and I would probably be OK if neither of us worked, but I actually went to nursing school. I work in the ER at Emerald City and do some shifts at Storybrooke General, too.”

“Oh, wow. Do you like it?”

“Would I do it if I didn’t? Yes, it’s very rewarding. Some days are hell. There are people who can’t be saved, people who faced things you don’t even want to imagine. But then there are the ones you make better. It’s wonderful, really.”

It was sort of a foreign concept to Emma, being able to love your job. As a bail bondsperson it was certainly “rewarding” in that she often got to catch scumbags. But it didn’t somehow make them _stop_ being scumbags afterward. And her current job was mostly meaningless – she had an associate’s degree in accounting which gave her enough numbers skills to muddle through, but she didn’t make an impact like her mom or dad or Jasmine. _Maybe someday._

Killian was at Liam and Jasmine’s (and the girls hadn’t eaten dinner), so Emma assumed they’d be hanging out for a while there. Jasmine had other ideas.

“No, little missy. You need to go straight home. No seeing the prince before the ball. It’s probably bad luck.”

“He’s not a prince. He’s a _pirate_ and I’ll damn well see him if I want to. And are you telling me I’m not allowed to go say hi to Colin, either?”

“You’ll see them both tomorrow. Liam is coming out to give you some food and then off you go.”

Emma hoisted the garment bag out of Jasmine’s car and into her own. She was met at the passenger side of her car by her second favorite Jones brother, who kissed her on the forehead and bid her goodnight, setting a leaning tower of food-filled Tupperware on the back seat of the Bug.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket just after she turned the key in her ignition.

_Killian: Sorry, love. :( I’ll see you tomorrow?_

Emma typed a quick _they’re idiots (it must run in the family)_ followed by _I miss you_ before pulling out of the driveway and journeying back to Storybrooke.

 

It had taken Emma a full 2 hours to get ready. Without anyone to help her, it had taken probably 10 minutes alone just to zip up the damn dress. But then there was the updo – it looked amazing but with as much hair as Emma had, anything intricate was going to take a while. And makeup… well it takes a lot of effort to look effortless. She was wishing someone could just _poof_ her into being ball-ready, but it was also nice to have something to focus on for a few hours rather than being nervous for her first date with Killian.

_First date_. How ridiculous did that sound when they’d been spending every free moment of the last couple months together? How do you even act on a _first date_ with someone you very well might be in love with already? She just wanted to have fun – enjoy the food and the dancing and the joy of feeling fancy, but she couldn’t help but think how much it _meant_ for her and Killian. Tonight was the moment of truth, apparently. After tonight he would be her _boyfriend_. After tonight they’d probably sleep in each other’s beds but in very different attire (AKA _none_ ). Unless that’s not what he had meant when he kept suggesting tonight’s importance.

_Ugh_ relationship stress. It had been so many years since Emma had dealt with anything like this. Before she and Neal broke up that final, _real_ time, they’d been mostly stable for a few years – tense and not exactly blissful, but at least major-drama-free. And even when they had broken up (a billion times) before that, it was always about his bad behavior or her snarky attitude – it wasn’t this soft, sweet wondering of _what are we_ or _what do you want_. No, the last time Emma had to have _that_ conversation she was 12 and unafraid. But this time it was real and terrifying and holy _shit_ what if she was about to fuck up the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

 

Or she might just fuck up her car. Shit, shit, _shit_. Of _course_ this would happen right now. Emma’s Bug had been loyal to her for almost ten years, but it decided _tonight_ to take a fucking shit. Halfway to Emerald City in the middle of a rainstorm in her pretty, perfect dress. She’d called for a tow to Gus’s garage, but she still needed to get to the ball, goddamn it. So she’d called Killian, almost in tears, to please come find her and get her to Liam’s house where they were supposed to meet to all ride together to the ball.

Jasmine had made a plan. Before this debacle. She was going to distract Killian when Emma first arrived so Emma could get upstairs (under the pretense of fixing her makeup) so she could embrace the cliché and let Killian’s tongue hang out of his mouth while she descended the grand staircase ( _eye roll_ but also _aaaawe_ ).

But now his first look at her would be as she bolted from her broke-ass car into his truck, probably dripping wet. _That’s two hours of effort wasted_.

Except it wasn’t. Because Killian jumped out of his truck and ran to her door, holding two giant umbrellas to block out rain from all sides. He did react like cartoon Bugs Bunny seeing Jessica Rabbit for the first time, but he held his composure enough to get her into his truck without getting a single drop of rain on her dress. When they were both in his truck he leaned over to kiss her cheek, taking her hand in his on the seat and holding it tight the whole drive.

They got to Liam and Jasmine’s in record time (thanks to Killian’s absolute disregard for posted speed limits) and the five of them piled into Liam’s shiny black SUV, men in the front and girls (plus Colin) in the back. Emma was playing with Colin the whole drive, making faces and telling stories and playing with his little fingers and toes. Colin was all smiles in his adorable three-piece suit, and Emma thought several times about stealing him and taking him home with her (but keeping him only until he started wailing, of course).

Killian jumped out of his seat before Liam had officially put the car in park, rushing around to Emma’s door before she could even think about opening it herself.

“My lady,” he said with a bow, offering his hand to help her out of the vehicle.

She rolled her eyes, but played along. “Thank you, kind sir.”

“May I say you’re looking quite beautiful this evening, princess?”

“Well of course I am. But you’re not looking too bad yourself… for a pirate, anyway.”

With that, Killian winked, linked his arm through hers, and began walking toward the columns marking the entrance to the ball.

“I prefer _dashing rapscallion_ , love.”

The ball was being held at the Natural History Museum, in a small but beautiful space with a dinosaur replica at the center. Killian couldn’t resist a few _Jurrassic Park_ jokes as they were in line to be announced.

Yes, _seriously_ , they actually got announced like it was a full-on royal event at the goddamn Queen of England’s. 

And _no_ it did not make Emma’s heart skip several beats to hear her name announced so formally with Killian’s. Nope.

Liam was announced as _Captain,_ which caused Jasmine to glow with pride for her wonderful husband, and they announced little Colin as _sir,_ which might have been the most adorable thing to occur maybe ever.

 The tables were decorated with flower arrangements so tall she wondered how exactly they were going to make conversation across the table, but they were undoubtedly the most gorgeous combinations of flowers Emma had ever seen. She immediately pulled her phone out of her clutch, snapping pictures and sending them to her mother, to which she responded immediately.

_Mary Margaret: So pretty! I’ll have to do some googling about what they all are. Have so much fun tonight, sweetheart._

“Tisk, tisk, princess. Can’t you get off your phone for five minutes? They’re about to do the opening address!” Killian admonished, tipping his head in disapproval.

“I just needed to pass something along to the _queen_ , jackass.” She smiled and took his hand under the table, focusing her attention on Commodore Norrington as he took the stage.

 

The food was actually kind of a letdown. She’d been expecting extravagant and _different_ – something like Liam or Jasmine would make – but it was basically just your usual wedding food: chicken, red potatoes, barely seasoned vegetables, Caesar salad. The cake looked _amazing_ , though, so Emma still held out some hope. She chatted with Killian and Liam throughout dinner – Jasmine had to excuse herself to the lobby to calm Colin down once he got to screaming for no particular reason. They returned later and Colin sat in Jasmine’s lap eating the most disgusting pureed carrots Emma had ever seen (but Colin loved every minute of it).

 

The dancing started as soon as the plates were cleared, Killian approaching Emma and asking for her hand at the start of the second song (it was a string quartet version of _Wonderwall_ and Emma was just so _done_ _for_ ). But before they’d made it even a few feet from their table, Liam and Jasmine’s phones went off nearly simultaneously, an emergency calling them both away.

As it turned out, Liam was a member of the volunteer fire department and Jasmine was on call at the ER that night and something pretty brutal had occurred down by the docks. Someone had said _murder_ which seemed ridiculous because that shit didn’t happen in small-town Maine, but regardless, the two of them needed to run and didn’t have a babysitter lined up for Colin.

“We’ll keep him,” Emma offered immediately. “I’d be happy to dance with him a time or two. He’s probably lighter on his feet than his uncle, anyway.”

Killian glared, but only for a second, before vehemently supporting Emma’s offer. Jasmine left the car seat at their table as she and Liam bid them goodbye, promising to let them know what was going on as soon as they could.

“Take care of my little brother, sweetheart.” Liam kissed Emma on the cheek. “Oh, and my son, too, of course.” He and Emma both chuckled.

“I believe you meant _younger_ brother, there, Liam,” Killian insisted.

Colin was full and getting sleepy as his parents left, so much so that he hardly responded to his mother’s repeated goodbyes. He had just started talking weeks before and a few times so far he’d managed a “bye,” but he was way too close to dreamland for that one tonight.

Killian spoke for the first time since his brother left. “As much as I love the lad, I truly wasn’t planning on babysitting duty for our first date, love.” He slid his chair closer to Emma’s, fixing a piece of her hair that had fallen from its updo while she’d shifted Colin from one shoulder to the other. The kid was out cold.

“But look how cute,” Emma stage-whispered. She could certainly talk at normal volume without waking the child – the ballroom was bursting with conversation and music, after all – but it somehow still felt unfair to the poor sleepy baby.

“I know, Swan. Look, is there a song I could request for you? I know we can’t dance as I’d hoped, but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the music.” Killian offered, taking her hand in one of his and drawing circles over the back with his other.

The whole night her skin had been tingling in every place he touched her, each brush of skin building on the last, driving her crazy. For one fleeting second she was very resentful of the baby on her lap, but she kept in mind they’d have all night once they got back to his place. She could behave herself like a princess for just a little while longer.

She had a brief _calm the fuck down_ chat with her hormones before looking directly into Killian’s eyes to answer. “Surprise me?”

He leaned down and kissed Colin’s forehead before kissing Emma’s cheek and _holy shit_ she was so gone for this man.

When he sat back down he offered to take Colin for a little bit to give Emma a chance to breathe and run to the restroom. But he refused to tell her which song he asked for.

“Well am I going to miss it if I run to the bathroom?”

“No, darling, he said it’ll be a few songs more before they have a chance. Go now and you’ll be fine. Me and sleepy bear will manage for five minutes alone.”

The bathroom was fancy. _Scary_ fancy. The toilets flushed with little pull-chains that were incrusted by actual fucking crystals, for god’s sake. It was pretty hard to feel worthy of a room like that and it was just for _doing your business_. But Emma stole a glance at herself as she was washing her hands and getting ready to leave the bathroom and she was struck by how _not_ out of place she felt. Not that she was a super fancy person on the inside or anything – she was never going to be the type to insist on marble countertops or gold faucets – but there was something about the whole evening (probably entirely Killian-related) that made her really feel like a princess. And she hadn’t even gotten a dance yet.

Killian, of course, was working on just that. When Emma got back to the table, Eric and Ariel were sitting in Liam and Jasmine’s seats, with Colin softly bouncing on Eric’s lap. The kid had woken up and looked a little groggy, but overall it looked like he was enjoying himself with the new officers (Eric and Ariel were both Lieutenants in the Navy – Liam had run a few missions with Ariel before being stationed back in Maine).

“Ah, here’s my lovely lady,” Killian announced as Emma approached the table. “We shall take our leave to the dance floor now, mates. Thank you again!”

Killian took Emma’s hand and dragged her toward the dancing couples before she even had a chance to say hello to Liam’s friends or thank them for what seemed to be a few songs’ worth of babysitting. She was thrilled to finally be dancing until she realized that the couples’ movements on the dance floor were definitely more than just swaying – in fact they were all moving together like a scene from fucking _Pride and Prejudice_ and seriously was he trying to embarrass her to death?

“What are we doing, Killian?”

“Uh, I thought it was pretty clear, princess, we’re _dancing_. Unless you’d prefer to perform a scene from _Hamlet_ instead?”

“But what kind of dance is this? I know how to do the _lawn mower_ and how to grind my ass into someone’s crotch. I do _not_ know how to do a fucking _foxtrot_.”

“It’s called a waltz. There’s only one rule.” Killian positioned them on the dance floor, with one hand on her waist and the other holding one of hers. “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

Emma had never been a follower, so the concept of letting Killian lead was a bit difficult to deal with at first. But she _has_ always been a fast learner, so she started to master the rhythm and steps with ease. After just a few more bars, her face had lit up. She was _doing_ it. She was actually dancing. She was dancing with a guy who melts her fucking heart when they’re just sitting at one of their apartments eating cereal in their sweatpants, but right now they were at a _ball_ and they were dancing and she hadn’t felt this lucky in her life since they day Mary Margaret and David signed those papers to keep her forever.

And now she thought she might want to keep _him_ forever. 

He looked down at her then with a glint in his eye – he was surely thinking of a joke or innuendo or he was about to make fun of her and she’d be having _none_ of that.

“Watch the mocking! I’m actually getting the hang of this.”

“I’m not mocking you, Swan. I believe what I’m trying to say, your highness, is that you appear to be a natural.” He bowed and then took her back into hold as the quartet was changing songs.

Emma blushed a bit and was trying to craft a retort – something about being a natural at a lot of things – when it finally clicked why this new song sounded so familiar.

It might have been wordless and guitar-less and not quite so loud, but the quartet was playing “All the Same” by Sick Puppies and Emma was melting all over again.

“Did I pick a good one, Swan?” Killian held her a little tighter than was proper, staring her straight in her bright green eyes. Once again, her reaction was doing nothing but stroking his already massive ego, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t earned it.

Emma was just leaning in, throwing propriety to the wind, to kiss her favorite man when there was a loud snap followed by a body smacking into Emma’s, knocking her flat on her ass.

She was dazed at first, not understanding how exactly she ended up on the floor. _How much champagne had she had?_ (2 glasses.) Her eyes finally focused enough to see that a there was a woman directly on top of her, a woman who _clearly_ had had more than 2 glasses of whatever she was drinking, and Killian was above her, desperately trying to move the drunk lady enough to get Emma back on her feet. Once enough people had been shuffled around that she could try to stand, Emma was finally able to focus on the fact that her left ankle was twisted backwards and throbbing in pain.

“Emma, do you think you can stand?” Killian was a worrying mess, his eyes full of the kind of fear that would accompany _bleeding out_ , not a simple twisted ankle.

“I’ll be OK. But I definitely won’t be able to keep walking in these heels. Help me, please?” Emma felt ashamed needing to be supported like that, even if it wasn’t really her fault.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t accuse you of being a damsel in distress just because some bloody plastered idiot knocked you down.”

He reached down from behind her, hooking his elbows under her armpits and lifting her to her feet. He bent down again to pick up her heels, carrying them with his left hand as his right arm wound around Emma to support the ankle that couldn’t quite bend yet. “My hero!” Emma exclaimed breathily.

They made it to their table, Eric still happily taking care of a giggling Colin, just in time for to see Liam’s face lighting up Killian’s phone. It was too loud for a phone call in the ballroom, so he left Emma at the table with her leg propped up (and Ariel holding some ice from the champagne bucket to her ankle) to take the call out in the lobby.

What fucking luck. It felt like some sort of cosmic debt system or something – she finally had this _big_ thing in her life that was amazing (Killian) so to make sure she remembered her place in the world, all these tiny little problems kept cropping up to ruin her day. Poor Killian had wanted to make tonight perfect, but as long as he was standing so close to her he wasn’t going stop getting rained on by her own personal fucking dark cloud.

Killian returned to their table with a scowl. “I’m sorry, love, but Liam and Jasmine are going to be held up for quite some time. I guess it was a gruesome scene. Eric, might you and Ariel be able to run us back to Liam’s? We’ve got Colin’s car seat with us, but we don’t actually have a ride.”

“Of course! Anything for Liam’s _younger_ brother.”

“Thanks, mate.”

Ariel took the car seat out to their vehicle, while Eric carried Colin and Killian carried Emma. She felt ridiculous at first, being carried bridal-style and barefoot through a ballroom crowded with staring people. But Killian bent down and pressed a quick kiss to her lips and she decided to just enjoy being pressed up against him so closely, feeling the warmth of his skin and the flex of his muscles.

 

When they finally got to Liam’s, Colin was again fast asleep, so Killian left him gently snoring in his car seat propped on the recliner while he found some clothes and an ice pack for Emma.

He sat next to her on the couch, leaving the pile of clothes on the coffee table. He pulled her legs up into his lap, settling the ice pack against her now visibly bruised ankle. She jumped at the cold, but shifted herself so her head could rest against his shoulder, her arm winding around one of his for a little more warmth and comfort.

“I’m sorry, Emma. I imagined this night going _much_ differently if that’s any consolation.” He ran his free hand up and down her exposed thighs, leaving goosebumps in his wake that had nothing to do with the ice.

“Oh, shut up. I feel like it’s all my fault, anyway. Bad luck just follows me. And I guess I’m owed a lot of it to make up for the rare spot of good luck I’ve found.” She nestled her face further into his neck, her lips brushing his collarbone.

Killian moved his hand to grasp hers, intertwining their fingers. “What’s this good luck you speak of, love?”

Emma’s heart was beating frantically. Her brain was urging her to just make a joke, keep it light, _don’t risk anything_. But her heart, it was loud. And it was forcing her into honesty.

“It’s _you_ , obviously,” Emma started, her hands starting to shake a bit. “I know that I’m basically queen of denial and I know I wasted a lot of time avoiding some really obvious things, but I just need you to know that I – I think that you… you might just be the best thing that’s happened to me this decade, and – I don’t know what made you text me to go to lunch a few months ago, but I’m just really happy you did.”

“Emma…” Killian breathed, nudging her head with his to make her face him. The pure light in his eyes when she looked up at him was terrifying and beautiful and –

He bent his head a little further, nudging his nose against hers, his lips slowly parting before closing over hers. The kiss was slow but passionate – she was trying to pour every bit of unspoken emotion into it so maybe he’d begin to understand what he meant to her.

She swiped her tongue along his lip and he opened for her, deepening the kiss as he tightened his hands around her. He pushed her back, her head resting on the edge of the couch, so she was almost fully lying back while he shifted himself so he was almost beside her rather than under her (he was very careful to not move her ice pack). Emma let go of his hand and instead ran her fingers through his already messed up hair (the stress had gotten to him, clearly). She dragged her fingers down his neck and moved to undo a few buttons on his shirt, before raking her nails through the now-exposed chest hair.

Killian grunted a little and swiped his tongue over her lips as he moved to kiss her cheek and then her neck, moving still lower to kiss her collar and then the swell of her breasts. At the same time he moved one hand so it trailed up her thigh, tickling dangerously close to the place she was now _very_ aware she wanted him to go. She sighed just loud enough that he must have snapped back to reality, removing his hand from under her dress and moving his mouth back to press one more kiss to her lips.

They were quiet for a moment.

“What, you don’t want to bang on your brother’s couch?” Emma asked with a laugh, trying to straighten herself up on the couch.

“Oh, I didn’t say that. But not tonight, love.” He kissed her again on the temple as he pulled the bobby pins from her hair. It spilled down her back in a twisty, curly mop and he ran his fingers through the ends before giving her a gentle _boop_ to the nose. “These clothes of Jasmine’s should fit you. I’m going to put Colin to bed in his crib and then I’ll grab the baby monitor and be back down. Is that OK?”

“Why wouldn’t it be OK?”

“I’m trying to be a _gentleman_ here!” He looked tired and frustrated and just ready to hit _reset_ on all the crazy of the day.

“OK, kind sir, but do you mind unzipping me before you leave? I don’t have the energy to figure out how to do it myself.” Emma stood up, turning around before he had a chance to formulate some dumbass frat boy response.

And he never did respond (in words). Emma felt his fingers brush through her hair, moving it off her shoulders. He gripped the top of the zipper, moving it slow, slow, _slow_ ly down her back, the fingers of his other hand trailing across each patch of newly exposed skin. He brushed over the clasp of her bra and all the way to the small of her back, letting both of his hands rest there at the end of the zipper, just long enough that she seriously thought about whipping around and pinning him to the couch between her thighs. _Down, girl_.

 

When he got back downstairs she was 75% asleep on the couch.

“Sweetheart, will you please hold this monitor for me while I carry you?” Killian whispered in her ear, licking her earlobe to jolt her awake.

She shivered and chuckled without opening her eyes. “Mmhmm.”

He placed the monitor on her belly and scooped her up for the third time that night – but for the _first_ time he’d have to contend with a whole flight of stairs. She gripped him tight around the neck and tried to mumble something about hobbling up the steps herself, but he ignored her and managed to get them into Liam’s guest room without further incident. He lay her down on the far side of the bed, pulling down the covers to tuck her under. She reached her arms out for him, whining a little at the loss of contact while he set the monitor on the nightstand.

“So am I your girlfriend now, Killian? I think in my professional opinion I’m sufficiently _wooed_ ,” Emma asked as Killian drew her up onto his chest and wrapped both his arms around her.

“Yes, Emma, you’re most certainly mine.”

The last thing Emma felt was his lips on hers before she drifted to sleep.

 

The _first_ thing she felt when she awoke was Liam’s pointer finger pressing against her cheek.

“Oh, lovebirds,” he sang, far too pleased with himself.

Killian groaned in her ear while she turned her head away from Liam’s poking.

“Don’t make me get the pots and pans, _little_ brother and brother’s _little_ girlfriend. Or the ice water.”

Emma shot up, not looking to get soaked in cold water at this hour, and Killian started laughing.

“Empty threats, Emma. Just come back to bed, sweetheart.” Killian reached toward her, his eyes still closed.

If his eyes had been _open_ he might have realized how non-empty Liam’s threats were, but he just grumbled one more time and – Liam winked at her – suddenly Killian was soaked by two full buckets of ice water.

Killian’s scream was girlish and shrill, to say the least, and the ensuing battle was loud and so very child-like (“What was that, you prat?! I took care of your child for you last night!” “I had to take the opportunity, brother! You’re never asleep here” “This was _your_ bed, you moron!”).

Emma joined Jasmine in the kitchen, thanking her for the clothes she lent her (admittedly without her direct permission, but _still_ ), and helped her make breakfast.

After they ate, Emma borrowed some shoes from Jasmine (pajamas with heels made her look marginally _insane_ ) and Killian drove her back to her house in Storybrooke.

She didn’t know how much her car would cost to get fixed, how she would get to work in the morning, or what the fuck other terrible things the universe had in store for her in the near future, but as Killian pushed her against her front door and kissed her until she was dizzy, she realized she just didn’t _care_ about anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is called "Once More, With Feeling" and should be up sometime in the next week. Also, if you don't know the song "All the Same" by Sick Puppies, take a listen. It really would make a perfect waltz at a modern fairy tale ball.


	10. Once More, With Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for a reason...

It was David who came to her rescue. The Bug’s transmission had taken a shit, so Emma was full-on carless and certainly didn’t have time to go shopping for a new one until at least the weekend. With school being back in session, Mary Margaret had to get to work much earlier than Emma, so David slightly altered his shift at the animal shelter so he could drive Emma to and from work. It wasn’t too far out of his way, so she didn’t feel unnecessarily guilty – plus she could use some father-daughter time, however brief it might be.

“Good morning, sunshine!” David greeted Emma at her door, an offering of hot cocoa (with cinnamon) and bear claws.

“It’s too early for that kind of chipperness, Dad.” She closed one eye and leaned her head against her doorframe, whining with the tone of a much younger girl.

David played off as horribly offended. “But I brought sugar!”

“Oh, fine.” Emma took her treats and huffed off to David’s car, throwing him a flash of appreciation as she went.

On the way, David talked about Mary Margaret’s garden, the newest strays he’d been taking care of at the shelter, and how he’d dropped his cell phone in a puddle the day before (thank god for that fancy case Emma had gotten him for his birthday) before finally broaching the Killian subject.

“So is that boy still treating my baby the way she deserves?”

“ _David_. You are well aware his name is _Killian_. And considering he treats me like an actual _princess_ , I’d imagine you should approve of his conduct.”

“Why haven’t you brought him over yet? Your mom really wants to see him.”

“Perhaps _that’s_ why I’m yet to bring him over. Mary Margaret can be a little… _intense_. She’ll be discussing cuts of diamonds for engagement rings before she even pours the lemonade. ”

In many ways her adoptive parents were all kinds of cliché… her daddy was hoping she’d stay single forever while her mommy was just hoping for grandbabies. The last time Emma had posted a picture of Colin and Killian on Instagram, she’d gotten a litany of questions about Killian’s hopes and dreams and plans for children – and this was all _before_ they were even officially dating (ugh, the pitfalls of social media).

“Just think about it, Emma. We can come up with some sort of activity to keep her a little more occupied if you’d prefer.”

“Like what? A three hour game of _don’t break the sugar bowl_?”

 

That night Emma had decided to make quinoa enchilada casserole and Killian insisted it would be _bad form_ for him to allow her to eat such a delicious meal all alone, so he and Pete were waiting on her doorstep when David dropped her off after work. David shot him a stern glance and Killian saluted in response, Emma swatting his hand away from his forehead when she got to the bottom of the stairs.

“Can you not be weird, Killian?” She laughed as he took the hand she used to swat him into his own, lacing their fingers together. He yanked on her hand, pulling her up into a kiss.

“You know, my dad can probably still see us,” Emma mumbled through a tight smile against his lips.

Emma pressed their foreheads together as Killian stuck his tongue out, licking her still-smiling lips. “Oh, well,” he said, chuckling.

She pulled him against her in earnest, removing her hand from his to trail it down his back. He brought a hand up to her face, resting his thumb against the dimple in her chin. At that he pulled back and Emma opened her eyes in response, smiling at him before diving back in, tangling their tongues together as she trailed her hand to the hem of his shirt. Every single one of her nerves was on fire and he was making her abandon rational thought, turning his head to kiss down her neck. When he trailed his kisses up to her ear and finally sucked her earlobe into his mouth, her self-control snapped and her fingers went under his shirt to stroke the muscles of his back.

Her icy fingers on his warm back must have brought him back to reality, anyway – since apparently she was so _gone_ for him that she didn’t recognize it was probably inappropriate to feel him up outside her house in broad daylight (with her dad perhaps able to see in his rearview mirror).

Killian stepped back to look at her, laughing proudly at how quickly he could get to her. “Hello, love.”

She was surely the real-life incarnation of the heart-eyes emoji, staring back at him like a lovestruck idiot struggling to catch her breath. “Hi.”

They stood like that, laughing despite themselves, for a few minutes before it dawned on her they should probably go inside.

Killian untied Pete from the railing as Emma unlocked her front door. The three of them walked inside (Pete dashed immediately to the cupboard where she kept the dog treats, despite never having been at her place before), and Emma started gathering the ingredients for dinner.

Killian found an old blanket to serve as a makeshift dog bed for Pete (after feeding him a dinner of Emma’s leftover grilled chicken), and once he was somewhat calm, he started scanning his iTunes for a good dinner-making playlist. Emma kept glancing over at him moving through her house like he belonged there and _oh my god_ did he belong there.

She stirred the boiling quinoa and moved to start dicing tomatoes when suddenly Killian was behind her, his arms winding around her waist and his chin resting on her shoulder. He must have chosen his 80s playlist – The Cure’s _Love Song_ was pumping through her tiny speakers, contributing to the chills rolling up her spine.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to sneak up on clumsy girls with sharp knives?” Despite her words of warning, Emma leaned back into him, breathing in his heady scent and letting his warmth sink into her.

He pressed a light kiss to the apple of her cheek. “Guess you’re worth the risk, love.”

“Stop being so cheesy,” she said, elbowing him in the ribs.

God, he was such a distraction. She started giving him little tasks – cheese shredding, quinoa straining, green chile dicing – if only to give her brief moments of relief from her brain melting and her blood boiling when he stood too close.

Emma should have been horrified that anyone had such an effect on her. She prided herself on being independent – even back when she was with Neal – though his power over her hadn’t been anywhere near as strong as Killian’s was now. But it had still broken her – smashed her to pieces, in fact – for _years_ after it went up in flames. But this thing with Killian didn’t horrify her. It set her on fire in a way that warmed her but didn’t make her fear getting burned.

Of course, Emma wasn’t so naïve as to think their relationship was going to be nothing but a series of fluffy kissing scenes in a montage set to “Falling Slowly” (but the fact that a lot of it honestly _could_ didn’t make her want to vomit and that was definitely a step). No, Emma had expected _this_ moment – and she knew herself enough to know it would be all her fault.

They were almost finished eating dinner and Emma had joked again about having to get a ride with her daddy all week when Killian brought up the subject of obtaining a new car. Emma had planned to do some pricing research during work that week and then actually head out to the dealerships (there were really only two nearby) Friday or Saturday.

“That’s a smart plan, Swan. Had you planned to go alone?” He kept his eyes on his plate, taking smaller bites than usual.

“Yeah, I think I’ll be fine. I’m really not looking for the _perfect car_ or something. I just have to get something functional that I can afford.” Emma picked up her plate and walked it to the sink, grabbing a second beer from the fridge on her way back to the table.

“Well what do you want?”

“I don’t know. Just a car. Not too terrible on gas guzzling. Nothing too fancy where I don’t know how to use the controls.” Jasmine’s car was comfortable and all, but there weren’t any _buttons_. Every single thing was controlled with a screen or voice command, and trying to figure out how to change the radio station had made her want to smash the damn thing with a baseball bat. She’d prefer to keep it a little more basic than that.

“Well, love, if that’s what you’re looking for I could probably be of more service than you think.” Killian finally faced her, smiling softly and raising an eyebrow.

“Do you know of one for sale?”

“Uh, not exactly.” He looked nervous, which was mostly out-of-character for him, causing Emma to worry.

“What exactly are you suggesting?” She glared probably a little more sternly than she’d intended.

“Well I am a mechanic, love. And I have access to a lot of different parts. Very cheap, of course. I could just build you a car and it wouldn’t cost you anything. Well, it would cost you a few more weeks of riding with your father, but I can’t imagine a few minutes with Dave each morning is really that –“

Emma had her beer to her lips when it was finally clear what he was saying. She nearly choked, slamming the bottle down and yelling, “no!”

“No? What’s so wrong – “

“Killian, _no_. I can buy my own fucking car. I don’t need you going all _Dean_ on me here.” Her cheeks were red and her knuckles were white and she probably hadn’t been so angry since the last time she talked to Ruby and –

“Emma, love, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just trying to help…”

_Help_. Of course. Because she’s some fucking _charity_ case. “Killian, just stop it, OK. Stop trying to act like a goddamn knight or something. I’m just as capable as anyone else of being a grown up and doing grown up things and I don’t need _you_.”

“But it’s my job! I mean literally. My _job_ is to make cars drivable for grownups like yourself.” He was confused instead of furious which was adorable but only made her even angrier because as much as she knew it would be all her fault, she really _hated_ when it was all her fault.

“Yes, Killian, and people _pay_ you for that. You _just_ said I wouldn’t be paying _plus_ I’m guessing this would have to be an extra-curricular activity, thus taking away precious time from your life and then you’ll be cranky and miserable and realize I’m nothing but a problem and a waste of time and you’ll just walk away, anyway.” _Oops, we’re getting off track here_.

At that he got out of his seat and knelt in front of her, taking both her hands into his own (despite her refusing to look at him).

“Emma. You are _not_ a problem and _certainly_ not a waste of time. I sort of imagined us taking the me-building-you-a-car time and turning it into us-hanging-out-and-you-rewarding-my-good-work-with-kissing-breaks time. I didn’t mean to upset you. I would _never_ mean to upset you. But cars… they’re kind of my thing. I expected I’d be helping you with this. Just like I’d expect you would help me with – “

“With what, Killian? What’s _my_ thing? I don’t even have one! God, I’m just – “

“ _Stop_ that. You’ve got a million strengths, Emma Swan. You’re incredible at research. You can find anyone. You’re tough as nails – you spent years chasing down and catching bad guys, remember? You could take _me_ if you tried. You’re excellent with children. Colin certainly behaves far better for you than me and we share bloody DNA. You’re kind and understanding and _brave_ , and you, my love, could save the damn universe. Sod Rose Tyler. I’d pick _you._ ”

How could he be so incredible? Shame washed over Emma for her massive overreaction. Though, to be fair, it wasn’t really an _over_ reaction. Just a reaction to something Killian couldn’t possibly have realized was a trigger.

He wiped a tear she didn’t realize she’d shed as he led her over to the couch. She took care not to trip over (a somehow still sleeping) Pete as Killian sat down, motioning her onto his lap. She sat down with her legs across him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry, Killian.”

“It’s quite all right, love. But do you care to tell me what nerve I hit just now? I’d like to avoid it again in the future. For your sanity as well as my safety.” He chuckled, running his fingers through her hair.

“I never told you how I got the Bug in the first place. Would you like to hear the story?”

“I’m happy to hear any story you wish to tell.” He snuck a quick kiss, _that smooth bastard_.

“Quit with the flattery, Jones, you’re just making me feel more guilty for the meltdown.”

“My apologies, your highness. Proceed.” He bowed his head and flourished his hand and it took all of Emma’s remaining energy not to unclasp her hands from around his neck and slap him instead. But she began.

“It was just after you left town, actually. I’d been using David’s old truck – that rusty sort of red one – but it started feeling like I needed something better. Something that was _mine_. Plus, every time I got in trouble, they would take my truck privileges away. Neal and I just gotten back together and he’d found out I slept with Graham – and as a side note wasn’t at all mad at Graham about it, just _me_ (how charming) – and he didn’t really trust me when I’d say I couldn’t hang out with him because I didn’t have a vehicle. So, without even asking me what kind of car I wanted he “bought” me that hideous yellow thing. I say “bought” because I found out six months later that he’d just stolen it off the fucking street and taken a clean VIN number from another car. He made me an unwitting felon, all because his dumbass friend had essentially _raped_ me, which was apparently more embarrassing for the _cuckold_ than it was traumatizing for the girl who’d been invaded.”

His grip tightened on her at those last words and she felt compelled to apologize to him – the last thing he needed to hear was about another man forcing his way into her – but she also didn’t want to ever have to hold back when she spoke to him. Just like she’d expect he wouldn’t hold back to her. Yeah, she wouldn’t _love_ to hear about his whole getting-over-Milah-spree, but if he needed to tell her, she’d listen.

She squeezed him back in reassurance and continued. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It just dredged up the memory. I mean, yeah, I kept the damn car because I needed one – and later to remind me never to trust anyone again - but I hadn’t actually thought about the way Neal shoved it on me until you mentioned building one and it was _so_ not the same situation. Did I mention I’m sorry?”

He kissed her again, holding her lips to his a little longer this time. “You did mention that. And you needn’t apologize.”

“Well then I’m going to thank you. For _understanding_.”

Emma always did this thing where she yelled at the wrong person. The person who _reminded_ her was always the one getting the tongue-lashing instead of the person who actually _did it_. It was a problem in many of her foster families, probably one of the reasons she didn’t get adopted until she was a teenager. She’d leave an abusive foster father, but it was the nice one she was placed with next that she screamed and threw plates at, all because he bumped her while he was reaching for the salt.

“Not to risk upsetting you again, but do you _want_ me to build you a car? I promise it’s nothing to do with controlling you. Though it does have its selfish motivations. How will we meet halfway every Sunday if you don’t have a car?”

“No, I really will buy one. I think it’ll make me feel better that it’s all _mine_. Plus, I’d much rather spend time with you outside of the car garage. Preferably in a cozier setting, like this one.” Emma sat up a little, moving so her legs were no longer across him but one leg on each side, her knees against his hips.

“You’re right, this is much more fun.” He kissed her then, deeply, causing her to make a noise that was somewhere between a giggle and a moan. She ran her fingers through his hair and scratched at the nape of his neck while his hands rubbed her back, inching lower and lower until he was practically cupping her ass. She rocked her hips into his and he gasped, releasing her mouth to nip gently at her neck.

“Mmm you’d better not leave any marks there, buddy. It’s not really turtleneck season yet,” Emma said (quite unconvincingly). Truly, she probably wouldn’t stop him even if he tried to leave a hickey the size of a damn baseball. He felt too _good_ and she just didn’t care. She had concealer somewhere, right?

He heeded her warning, moving back to her mouth for a moment before he brought his hands up to her neck, brushing her skin lightly as he started to undo the buttons of her shirt (she knew she never changed out of her work clothes for _some_ reason). When he got to the last button he slid his hands inside, laying his palms flat over her stomach. She moaned in response, rocking into him with more force. Finally he brought his hands to her shoulders and pushed the shirt entirely off without breaking their kiss.

 Emma got impatient _fast_ , reaching down to rid him of his own t-shirt, jerking it up a bit harder than necessary (and causing him to laugh).

“Calm down, Swan, I’m not _that_ irresistible.”

“Yes you are.” There she went with stroking his damn ego again. She really needed to control herself. ( _Not likely._ )

The new sensation of that much skin on skin was setting her on fire even more, but the added tickle of his scruff against her neck and chest as he started peppering kisses down her front was like a drug or like oxygen or some better simile she couldn’t even _think_ of at the moment because her brain was full of nothing but _holy shit_ and _more, more_ and she hoped to god he wouldn’t stop them this time. She’d done her princess duty already, right? It could be the bar wench’s turn to step in.

She was just moving her hands from his chest to reach to unhook her bra when he swatted her hands away. What guy _doesn’t_ want to see boobs when given the opportunity? She sat up straight, wide-eyed and nervous she’d done something wrong when he looked at her sternly and said, “ _mine_ ,” unhooking it himself.

She shrugged it off and he just stared like he’d seen God or something. That reverence in his eyes was making her blush and the color was spreading across her face and shoulders and chest and he chuckled and it only made the blush deepen and all the lights were on and _why was she so embarrassed_ so she surged back in to kiss him before he could make any comment.

She stroked her tongue along his in a steady rhythm, bracing herself against his thighs to rock into him even stronger. She could feel how hard he was beneath her just like he could probably feel how wet she was (her dress pants were thinner than leggings) and she moaned when he finally moved his hands high enough to cup her breasts. She reached between them to try to find the snap to his pants, but they were pressed too tightly together for her to get anywhere. She broke the kiss to lean back and unbutton him, but he used that opportunity to seize her breast into his mouth, kissing the underside before swirling his tongue around and then sucking her nipple into his mouth. She gasped and whimpered and holy _hell_ he was going to reduce her to a moaning, writhing mess before he ever even touched her south of her ribs.

“My… room. K-killian – please…” Emma couldn’t really make full sentences, but he must have gotten the message because he wrapped his arms under her ass and stood. She locked her legs behind him after they were upright, kissing down his neck as he walked them to her room.

He kicked the door shut behind them once they were inside, not letting Emma down until they reached the bed. He kneeled on the edge, easing her down, but before he hit the mattress her hands went to his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping and reaching under his waistband to yank down. He stood up off the edge of the bed, pulling his jeans off altogether before crawling back up over her. He left a trail of slow kisses up her body, stomach to chin, before stopping to run his hands through her hair and look her in the eye.

He was shaky and out of breath and heartbreakingly adorable as he paused to make sure she was OK.

“Emma, do you – is this what you want?”

She tried not to laugh when she realized the _striking_ contrast between what they were about to do now and what they’d been doing half an hour ago ( _shit, they left dinner on the table… oh well_ ).

His eyes were so sincere and caring and loving despite the obvious lust, his mouth swelled from her kisses but twisted into a half-desperate, half-wary smile, and she knew she’d never been so sure of anyone in her life.

“You’re all I’ll _ever_ want, dumbass.”

It wouldn’t be them without a little teasing, right?

She cupped his cheeks with her hands, kissing him soundly. She used their new position and new state of undress to explore his body in a way she’d never been able to before, running her palms over the planes of his back, down his sides. She scratched her nails through his chest hair, causing the muscles of his abdomen to jump as she lightly scraped his skin. She let a hand wander even lower, dipping into his boxers to really _feel_ him. He let out a deep moan as she wrapped her hand around him and pumped, but he gently nudged it away, instead moving himself down her body. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, the top of her breasts while rubbing his hands down her sides and up again, stopping to tweak her nipples in turn. He sucked one into his mouth before sucking a bruise into the skin below it.

“Don’t worry, love, no one will see _that_ one but me,” he whispered before dipping his tongue into her belly button. He kept kissing down, down, down until he reached the waistband of her pants, tugging them (and her panties) off in nearly one fluid motion.

He didn’t waste any time in caressing down her thighs, parting them and settling in between, licking a stripe at her core that nearly had her falling apart already.

She was sensitive from what felt like 10 years of buildup and he should come with a fucking _warning_ label he was so good, swirling his tongue around her clit while dipping his fingers inside her. She was absolutely breathless – should have been embarrassed about how easy she was making this for him – had started shaking and moaning uncontrollably after barely a minute. One well timed flick of his tongue and she was fluttering, crashing, crying out… and he was chuckling with glee.

“I. Hate. You,” Emma choked out between gasps as he rolled over and crawled up to lay beside her.

“No you don’t.”

“You’re right. I don’t. Now take off your boxers.” She was still catching her breath, but was perfectly aware they weren’t finished yet. She’d heard him shuck his boxers, but she hadn’t felt him moving toward her yet, so she finally opened her eyes, raising an eyebrow to question his distance.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen…” Killian said, looking something like embarrassed. Emma’s first reaction was that she did something wrong (old habits die hard), but he quickly clarified. “I mean, not _tonight_. And I didn’t bring… what you need for… this. And I know I’m clean – I actually went and got tested after we started being friends again (wishful thinking) but I wouldn’t –“

“Killian, calm down. It’s fine. I’m not sure why you’re panicking. You’ve literally watched me take my birth control before. Several times. I’m very responsible.”

“Well I didn’t know what it was! Maybe you had heartburn.”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Killian. Are you going to just sit there stuttering or are you going to fuck me already?”

“Whoa, language, princess!” Killian feigned shock until Emma caught his hand and brought it to her chest.

“Offer expires in one minute, _pirate_.”

He pounced, reducing her to giggles as he kissed her all over – nose, eyes, cheeks, face – covering the rest of her body with his own.

When she finally caught her breath she caught his lips with hers and they melted together with an entirely new energy, one far more suited to _making love_ than _fucking_. And, of course, she was well aware that’s what this would end up being. She knew how she felt and suspected he was probably in the same ballpark (even if they were lightyears away from saying it).

After a few minutes of deep kisses and soft touches, he reached down between them to line himself up before finally pushed into her. She gripped his arms as he slid slowly – holy _shit_ he filled her up – while he kept placing soft kisses at her neck as he eased back out and in again.

“Oh, _Emma_ …” Killian was shaking, trying to hold back enough to not hurt her.

“It’s OK, Killian.  _Ohhh_. You’re not – you can move. Oh, _god_.”

He gradually picked up the pace, capturing her lips in a long kiss. She sighed and ran her hands down his back, grabbing his ass to pull him in even deeper. The feeling of him inside her was nothing like she’d ever known, not because he was so big (he was) or because he moved so well (he did) but because she had never felt so happy and cared for and like she _mattered_. They mattered to _each other_ , more than she ever could have anticipated or hoped for, and to be together the _whole_ way – literally moving as one – was strong and perfect and made her feel just a little like maybe she’d never be that lost little girl ever again.

Needy _and_ grossly poetic. What had this man turned her into?

He pulled her up so she was half-sitting and he moved up to his knees, the change in angle hitting her somewhere she never even knew _existed_ and she was moaning on every thrust, scratching her nails so deep he was definitely going to have marks and she really didn’t have the mental capacity to notice if they’d be visible or not.

She shattered around him then and he grunted _loud_ as he thrust a few more times, pulsing inside of her as she continued fluttering around him. They collapsed down together, falling to their sides facing each other, but neither of them quite able to keep their eyes open.

Emma’s body very desperately needed sleep – she’d never been so sated (and emotionally exhausted) in her whole damn life – but she needed to set an alarm first, at the very least. Plus there was the unhappy fact that Killian was probably going to leave and she really couldn’t handle him abandoning her while she was sleeping, even if it was for something as basic and necessary as _work_.

“Killian, are you still with me?” Her eyes were closed but she hadn’t felt the bed move, so he had to be there, right?

“Mmmm, yeah sweetheart, I’m here.”

“Are you happy?”

“Love, they don’t make words for how I feel right now. But, yes, happy is a close enough synonym I suppose.” Killian reached over and wrenched her eye open with his fingers. “Falling asleep on me? Guess I was just too much.”

Emma smiled, finally opening her eyes fully and cuddling up close to him, her head resting on his chest.

“I’m bad for your ego, aren’t I?”

“No, love, you’re _quite_ good for it.”

“That’s the problem!” She squealed, smacking his chest.

They were quiet a few minutes, just breathing each other in, before Emma finally spoke.

“Stay with me?” She was so quiet he might not have heard if he’d started falling asleep.

“Of course, love.”

She reached over to set the alarm on her iHome (Killian wasn’t going to like waking up to Katy Perry, but how was that _her_ problem?), pulling the comforter over them as she sank back down on to the bed and into his arms.

 

She woke up to his kisses rather than her alarm and no she wasn’t complaining.

“Good morning, love.” Killian kissed her forehead.

Emma hummed in contentment. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

“ _Sweetheart_ , eh? I must have fucked the insults out of you.”

“Maybe you did.”

Emma stood up from the bed, walking toward her closet door to collect her robe. She threw Killian’s boxers onto his face. “Let’s have some breakfast.”

But the scene outside her bedroom door caused her to shriek (and caused Killian to fall into one of her bedposts when he panicked and missed the second leg hole in his boxers).

Quinoa had better not be bad for dogs, because Pete had eaten the entire rest of the casserole and passed out right in the dish. Typical _man_.

 

Killian cleaned the remnants of Pete’s buffet while Emma showered and got ready for work. They only had fifteen minutes after that before Emma’s dad would be there to pick her up, so their gourmet breakfast consisted of Lucky Charms and orange juice.

“There’s a few things we never got to last night, Swan.”

“Just a few? I’m pretty sure there are more than a few other things we can figure out to do next time we fall into my bed,” Emma smirked.

“Head out of the gutter, please!”

“What, _you’re_ the only one who can make an innuendo?”

“ _Anyway_ , first I’d like to know if you’d like my company while you car shop this weekend. Before you say anything, Smee still owes me that day off so I won’t be working Friday anyway, and I promise to register no opinions with you about the cars beyond my opinion on their likelihood of killing you. Plus you’ll need someone to drive you there, which I hope you hadn’t failed to take into consideration.”

_Shit_. She had failed to take that into consideration. _Don’t stroke his ego!_

“I was going to ask my mom, but I _suppose_ you wouldn’t be the worst companion.”

“Perfect!” he said, thrusting his cereal spoon in the air. “Now, second, I’d like to know if I could count on the pleasure of _your_ company on my sailboat this Saturday. Second shot to have a first date and all. Once more, with _feeling_!”

“Does that mean you’re going to curse me to sing and dance myself to death?” Emma laughed at the _Buffy_ reference, remembering watching it with Killian back in high school. He didn’t particularly even _like_ the show, but he’d watch reruns on TNT with her – laughing with her and giving her tissues when she cried and apparently paying close enough attention that he remembered an episode title _ten years_ after he’d watched it. Maybe it wasn’t just _present tense_ Killian who she belonged with. Maybe if she had opened her eyes, she would have noticed the undeniable connection with _past_ Killian. (And maybe she already sort of knew where she and _future_ Killian were headed.) Maybe it was _any_ version of them who just fit, and she’d wasted what could have been a blissful decade all because she was apparently blind or dumb. Just another reason to hate Neal. Or herself.

“Now, Swan, don’t go thinking I’d let harm come to a single hair on your head. Unless I happen to yank too hard and pull some out. You know. If you’re into that sort of thing.”

Emma threw her spoon at him and he yelped, even though it missed him by a good two feet. “Do you really think we should be trying to make up for last week’s disaster _on a boat_? I’m really not super excited about the idea of drowning this weekend… just as a general note.”

“I’ll take that under advisement, Swan. Now I best dash out of here before your daddy realizes I never left and tries to run me over with his car.”

He threw his bowl in the sink, woke his dog off the couch, and brushed a kiss on Emma’s lips, escaping her house with just two minutes to spare before David showed up with hot chocolate and doughnuts.

“Dad, you’re going to make me _fat_.”

 

Killian picked her up on Friday morning, a folder full of pricing comparisons and recall lists and _Consumer Reports_ tucked under her armpit as she jumped into his truck. They visited two different dealerships and Emma hated, _hated_ how the jerk salesmen treated her like a complete idiot until realized she’d brought a man with her. They didn’t even have to know he was a fucking _mechanic_ before they respected him, but they saw she had boobs under her t-shirt somewhere so must automatically be an idiot who would pay double for no reason. Killian saw her frustration, but kept his promises and only spoke when she asked him a direct question or when he noticed something technical and was asking a question of a salesman.

The one she picked was pretty low on miles but had been in an accident before, so Killian checked everything that could be affected. When he gave it the all-clear, she started talking numbers, and when they salesmen kept looking at _Killian_ instead of her, she threatened to walk out and/or sue them for being “chauvinistic miscreants.” They finally came to an agreement and Killian looked like he was going to come in his pants he was so turned on and Emma just laughed and laughed because her mouth got her in trouble sometimes, but other times it was the best weapon in her arsenal.

It was still daylight outside when they crawled into the back seat of the new-to-her bright green Jetta (“Really, Swan, _this_ color?” “Hey! I got used to being able to spot my car in a crowded parking lot.”), and she showed him just how good with her mouth she could really be.

 

“I don’t know anything about how to sail a boat, Killian. Isn’t that kind of a problem?” Emma had her bikini on under her sundress, a big bag swung over her shoulder containing snacks and drinks and sunscreen – they were minutes from leaving his house and heading to the marina and she was still having second, third, and fourth thoughts about their sailing extravaganza.

“Love, I can sail the boat on my own. Like I said, I’ll give you some basic dos and don’ts and then all you need to do is enjoy a sun-filled afternoon on the water.”

“But what if I fall in?”

“Well then I guess it’s to Davy Jones’ locker with ya.”

“Killian!” she admonished as he rolled his eyes. He leaned down to kiss her, but she ducked out of the way pouting.

“Emma, darling, I would never make you do something you didn’t want to. Is there something I should know… are you perhaps afraid of water?” He touched his hands to her shoulders, running them down her arms to gather her hands in his.

“That… might… be a factor,” she finally admitted.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“A little because you were so excited about the date. But mostly just because I was embarrassed. What kind of rational 26 year old woman is afraid of water? Honestly I don’t even have a good reason. This isn’t one of those bad foster care memories or something. I’m just crazy. I’ll – I’ll get over it, I guess. Let’s just… power through.”

She _should_ have told him. But how do you tell your pirate boyfriend that boats scare the _shit_ out of you? He was going to be a Captain, for god’s sake, and what kind of first mate would she be if she was hiding under a blanket instead of… doing whatever first mates actually do.

Killian pulled her close, tucking her head against his chest (which was still bouncing with laughter. Thanks, _jerk_ ).

“Come on, love, I’ve got a grand idea.” He kissed the side of her head and took her hand in his, tugging her toward the door. When they got outside he took Pete off his run, leashing him and leading both he and Emma to the truck. “We’re off on an adventure!”

His absolute _glee_ was so infectious. Despite the fact that they still seemed to be heading toward the docks, Emma was almost ( _almost_ ) not even scared anymore. She and Killian sang along to the radio while she stroked Pete’s fur as he sat between them. Pete howled a few times – obviously because he wanted to join in the fun and _not_ because the two of them were rudely assaulting his ears.  

The docks weren’t too far from Killian’s house, so they made it there in less than five songs, Emma’s heart still pounding like she’d been taken prisoner rather than invited on a romantic date.

Killian’s ship wasn’t intimidating – just a standard, somewhat cheerful looking sailboat – but it might as well have been the Black Pearl for the way it was affecting her. Ridiculous, ridiculous, _ridiculous_.

“Love, I can hear your heart hammering from over here,” Killian called as he boarded the _Jolly Roger_ (“seriously, Killian, it’s bad enough you named your dog Peter Pan”). “But never fear, Pete and I shall keep you safe. Mostly because we’re not going to leave the marina at all, but, come on, let us feel a bit more heroic than we are.”

“We’re not leaving?”

“No, sweetheart. I would never ever make you do something that upset you. Not so quickly anyway. Today we’re going to spend an afternoon on the _Jolly_ so maybe you’ll start feeling just a bit less terrified of her. Maybe next time we’ll actually get to the sailing part.”

It wasn’t fair how often this man melted her heart, proving he’d probably do anything for her. She knew this, of course – he was the one who was going to completely swallow his feelings and probably make himself miserable just to make sure she stayed his friend – but every single time he proved it to her she felt a little more like everything was going to be just _fine._

They spent their date sunbathing and eating sandwiches and playing the world’s smallest game of fetch with Pete. An hour or so later another group of people had the same idea, just hanging out on their boat in the slip just beside them, so Killian invited them down, the whole group of them sharing a few beers and listening to music and laughing. Killian didn’t even know them – he’d seen them around, sure, but he’d never introduced himself – but he said he wanted to be brave like Emma and give some new people a chance. They shared stories and snacks and did a semi-drunken group singalong to “Bohemian Rhapsody,” really solidifying their afternoon as a definite success.

When the sun started setting they parted ways, and despite being in Killian’s truck next to Killian’s dog on the way back to Killian’s house, Emma had the distinct feeling she was on her way _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I've got a LONG day at the hospital today so distract me with a comment? I'd love to hear what you think, good or bad. (PS I needed to get this up before I didn't have wifi on my laptop so excuse any typos I missed - I'll fix later!)


	11. Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the fluff... after seeing the Dark Swan photos and being faced with the reality of MASSIVE ANGST AHEAD for canon Captain Swan, I sort of decided my AU Killian and Emma needed some happy. Enjoy!

Emma’s birthday was never a day she particularly looked forward to. Up until she was placed with Mary Margaret and David, none of her foster families had ever even bothered to acknowledge it. Once in a while she would be in a homeroom that sang a song or gave away _birthday girl_ buttons, but beyond that she was never given much attention or celebration for the day she was brought into this world. After her adoption she was celebrated plenty, of course – Mary Margaret and David celebrated those first 13 birthdays each of the 13 days immediately following her formal adoption. She’d woken up each morning to new decorations, new presents, and since it was summer and she and Mary Margaret were both free from school, they even went out on adventures and activities ranging from hiking to paintballing to sunbathing on their rooftop. And that year when October 23 rolled around and she turned 14, she finally experienced her first real birthday party. She’d cried when she got back from the library to a chorus of _surprise!_ from all her friends at school as well as Mary Margaret and David’s friends and coworkers – but for the very first time in her life, the birthday tears were of joy rather than sorrow.

Birthdays were great for a while after that, but once she’d left the comfort of her adoptive parents’ home in favor of her life with Neal, she had once again been met with the distinct feeling that her existence wasn’t something particularly worthy of celebration. And even after the Neal disaster was over, she couldn’t bring herself to celebrate – her son would have been born in October as well, and that loss was too much to bear.

Until now. Of course, she thought of her son often, imagined what life would be like if he’d gotten to be a part of it. He’d have been a toddler now, asking too many questions and exhausting himself (and his mom) by running around endlessly. His laughter would have rang throughout her house and he would have snuggled up next to her at night while she read him fairy tales. She even liked to imagine him on Halloween, dressed in matching pirate costumes with Killian, poking people with his plastic hook while he skipped along the street begging for candy.

Yes, she believed that even with her little boy in the picture, even with Neal _not_ incarcerated, she and Killian would have found their way to each other, would have made each other whole the way they had in this reality. She couldn’t imagine any timeline that wouldn’t have led back to him in the end.

As of this day she and Killian had been second-chance-friends for four months and had been dating for two – and she had honestly never in her life been happier.

Except that today she was just a tiny bit terrified, because this was her first birthday party in _years_ and it held more importance than she was willing to face – this would be the first gathering that included both Killian’s family and hers, and while she knew as fact that everyone would get along fabulously, she was still shaking and anxious and just a little bit sick to her stomach because this was probably the first of many, many birthdays and Christmases and… _other_ celebrations that would center on she and Killian as a singular unit rather than two separate people.

And it felt _right_. Even when she and Neal had been living together, expecting a child together, they always felt like just a pair of people whose lives happened to share some details. The Venn diagram of Emma and Neal overlapped probably only as much as one between casual roommates. But she and Killian… they were certainly more than casual and definitely something that Emma would rather not name specifically because it would be _big_ and serious and sort of scary and even though she felt like she was over the whole wanting-to-run-scared reflex, she didn’t want to test it quite yet.

She was so distracted with her rambling thoughts she almost missed the turn to her own parents’ house, earning her a quirked eyebrow from Killian, who (of _fucking_ course) had noticed the abrupt jerking of her wheel when she realized she was about to pass the driveway.

“Distracted, love?” he asked as he oh-so-chilvalrously opened her neon green car door for her to step out.

She rolled her eyes but stepped immediately into his embrace, squeezing him tightly and nestling her head under his chin. Things had gotten busy for Killian at the shop so she hadn’t seen him since their usual Sunday walk, those six days apart feeling a little like _eternity_ to both her soul and her ridiculous raging teenage-esque hormones. She hugged him tight, trying desperately to think only PG-rated thoughts with her parents so close by, but she was fighting a losing battle already and she was just _done for_ when he lightly skimmed his hand down to her ass.

“Stop that!” she squealed, batting his hand away and turning a shade of red that could only be labeled _tomato_.

“Oh, hush. No one is behind you. Also, I’m fairly certain to one is under any misapprehensions about what exactly I do to you when we’re alone. Unless they truly think you stay at my house so we can play all-night tournaments of Yahtzee.” Killian chuckled but moved his hands to more appropriate locations, never wishing to truly make her uncomfortable. Which, of course, made her heart melt (and kind of made her want him to put his hands back where they very much don’t belong while at her parents’ house – _oops_ ).

“I take my gaming very seriously, Killian.” Emma took his hand as she slammed the car door shut, leading him back toward Mary Margaret’s garden and sitting area.

It was a sunny day, still quite warm for late October, so David had decided to go picnic-style, grilling burgers and playing horseshoes and soaking up the rest of the season’s good weather while they still had the chance. Emma could smell the meat – hear it sizzling, even – just as the glorious laughter of Colin wafted to her ears.  

She saw Colin, Liam, and Jasmine nearly every week now, but there was something so different about them being _here_ , in her childhood home.

They rounded the corner and Emma’s breath caught when she saw it all (and Killian noticed her reaction, smiling like the smug bastard he was). Liam and Jasmine were standing at the edge of the garden admiring the mostly bloomed-out array of flowers, chatting away with Elsa. August was playing grillmaster with David, flipping the meats and melting cheeses and huffing their chests out as a clear indication of their _broing out_. Dr. Hopper was tethering Pongo to the long run just behind the horseshoe pits that Mary Margaret had set up for visiting pups. And Mary Margaret sat in the grass surrounded by a mountain of toys, playing with a tricolored electronic piano that seemed to absolutely delight little Colin in her lap.

Emma leaned against a tree, just taking in the scene, Killian’s grip on her hand tightening.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her.

She rolled her eyes again, but pulled him closer. “My birthday isn’t until tomorrow, you know.”

“But today we celebrate! There’s three different kinds of cake. Just so you know.”

“Mmmmm you sure know the way to my heart,” she said, playfully elbowing him before pushing off the tree and walking toward her mom.

Colin noticed her before Mary Margaret did, his hands reaching toward her as soon as he eyed her.

“Emmie! Emmie!”

At just over a year old, Colin was finally starting to say words and names. When he’d tried to call her “Emma” it came out just a little too close to “Mama,” so they took to calling her Emmie for Colin’s benefit (much to her annoyance). The day he’d finally repeated it back – thus melting Emma’s heart, of course – she and Killian came to an accord: she’d never call him Killy outside of conversations with Colin as long as he never called her Emmie. And that was an accord they’d yet to break.

“Hey there, little man! Are you and Mary Margaret having fun?” Emma reached down to pick him up and he wrapped his chubby little arms around her, burying his head in her hair.

Killian looked on fondly, but also had a glint of jealousy in his eyes.

“What, is Uncle Killy chopped liver now?” Killian asked, pulling Emma’s curtain of hair back just enough to see the boy.

“Uncle Kiwwy! Mu-sic, mu-sic!”

Emma and Killian sat down with Mary Margaret, leaving Colin to bounce off to get whichever noisemaker he wanted to play with next.

“So, mom, Killian assures me I’m in for multiple cakes this afternoon. Is this accurate?” Emma reached out to take the guitar Colin was handing her, pressing buttons and making silly noises as she grabbed it. Colin laughed and took it back, slamming on the “strings” himself.

Mary Margaret nodded in response. “Oh, yes. All your favorites today, Emma! It’s been a while since we’ve had a proper birthday party for you. Had to go all out.”

“Well thank you in advance. It seems that after all this I’ll probably be in too much of a food coma to fully express my gratitude, so consider this it.”

Emma could hear tires on the gravel in the driveway but couldn’t figure out who it would be. David hadn’t mentioned anyone else being invited. Unless Dr. Hopper had started seeing someone without mentioning it to Emma.

Mary Margaret’s eyes drifted to the sidewalk. “Don’t thank me _quite_ yet. I think you’re probably about to be _just_ a little angry with me.”

The loud click of heels finally registered to Emma as painfully familiar (yet certainly not a sound she’d heard in the last two months).

_Ruby_.

Ruby swept into the backyard with confidence despite the awkwardness of the situation. Emma had been avoiding her since that night at the bar, not answering her texts or calls or even her actual handwritten letter that was delivered by mail (who _did_ that anymore?). She’d turned the opposite way when she’d seen her in the grocery store. She’d cancelled on every lunch and dinner that had her as a possible guest.

OK, yes, maybe she _should_ be over it by now. She and Killian were happy. _Really_ happy. But they would have come to that _without_ Ruby’s pushing. Killian was patient – too patient, even – and he wouldn’t have just gotten sick of waiting and run. But Emma would have realized what she wanted and she would have gone for it and they’d all still be sitting here in her parents’ back yard, except that Emma wouldn’t have gone red and shaky with anger at the sight of her (former[ish]) best friend.

“Might I have a word, Miss Swan?” Ruby called formally, with defiance in her eyes. She looked to Killian, whose shocked face was enough to assure her he hadn’t been in on the plan.

“Why did you come here, Ruby?”

“Well it’s my best friend’s birthday, first of all. Second, I was _invited_. Third, I’ve brought food with me that your parents paid for, so it was my delivery girl duty.”

Ruby swung the big brown bags toward her and Mary Margaret finally rose to take them off her hands.

“Yes, thank you, Ruby. Now why don’t you girls just head into the house?” Mary Margaret looked directly into Emma’s eyes, pleading with her. She could see the message her mother was sending her. _It’s been long enough, Emma._

“Fine,” she gritted out in Ruby’s general direction. She started to stand, but Killian pulled her back down.

“Are you going to be OK, love?” he whispered.

“I’ll try not to set her on fire, but be ready with bail money?” she whispered back, forcing a smile and kissing his cheek. This was about to be very uncomfortable, but she didn’t want Killian to worry more than necessary.

Emma and Ruby made their way to the house, Emma leading her to the front porch – the furthest point from the backyard and thus the least likely place they’d be overheard by other concerned partygoers. Everyone but Mary Margaret and Killian had respectfully averted their eyes when Ruby walked up, but they certainly hadn’t turned off their _hearing_. Everyone knew where the girls stood and were probably equally curious and worried about this (long coming) confrontation.

“Can I start?” Ruby was standing defensively, arms crossed and dark hair streaked with red spilling over them, her eyes narrowed.

“Go ahead.” Emma flourished her hand like it held a magic wand. Then she waited.

“I don’t know how much of my voicemails and texts and letters you actually paid any attention to, but basically the gist is this: I shouldn’t have done what I did. I stand by the fact that you and Killian needed a little push, but I certainly could have just _talked_ to you instead of forcing you into such an awkward situation. And you were right… it could have ended very badly. I didn’t want to admit it at first, but the broken look on Killian’s face when he saw you and Jefferson, well – I don’t… it should have been enough right then to know I’d done wrong. I’m happy you’re together and, Emma, please believe me when I say I’ve never _ever_ seen you look this happy before. Killian, neither. So it didn’t turn out all bad. But it _could_ have and I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if it did. But can _you_ forgive me now?”

Ruby straightened out, looking truly contrite (something Emma had never before witnessed from the girl with the wolfish grin and fuck-it attitude).

At the end of it all, Emma was _most_ upset that Ruby hadn’t recognized she could have _hurt_ people, but now that she did – well, maybe Emma could get over it, after all.

“Ruby, it really could have ended badly. If that had fucked up everything with Killian… I know that he and I weren’t even _together_ yet, but if it had ended like that it would have shattered me. And you knew that.”

“I just thought – ”

“That we’d work it out. Yes. And we _did_. And I can deal with it now. But I thought I could _trust_ you. And after everything with Neal, trust has been sort of a hard thing for me to believe in, and – ”

“Well, that’s sort of the other reason I’m here, sweetheart. I wish we could get to the warm and fuzzies and catching up on gossip and your sex life and all that, but I needed to warn you first.”

_Warn_ her? Emma couldn’t even think straight enough to remember what brought up her warning… until one name rang in her head.

_Neal_.

“Yeah, so Graham called the other day because being in law enforcement he hears stuff through the grapevine. And, well, I guess Neal’s daddy got a bunch of powerful people at his parole hearing and… he’s getting out. Or, I mean, he might be out already. And according to Graham, he was coming back to Storybrooke.”

Emma cringed. She knew the day would come – even the highest sentence he could get certainly wasn’t _life_ – but she’d truly hoped that she’d have moved on (literally) before it happened. It wouldn’t matter if he were in jail or working at the local grocery store if she weren’t _there_ , after all. But it’s not like she was going to run. Killian was here. And her parents and her friends and everything that made her life _good_ right now. Everything in her universe centered on this little chunk of land in Maine, and she wasn’t about to give it up just to avoid the douchebag who once ruined her life.

Emma hadn’t noticed that she’d sunk down onto the end table, grasping at her chest.

“Emma! Are you OK? Well you’re probably _not_ , but can I get you something? Some ice, some tequila, maybe a nice Xanax? I’m sure Dr. Hopper would be happy to – ”

Emma stood back up quickly, composing herself. “Don’t tell Killian,” is all she managed to get out.

“Why not, Emma? He’s going to find out.”

Yes, yes he would. But it was her _birthday_ and while she appreciated Ruby telling her – _warning_ her – she still didn’t want that dark cloud on _her_ day. Neal had ruined just about every birthday of hers since high school. He wasn’t ruining this one.

“Just not today, OK?” Emma was pleading, embarrassingly desperate at this point.

The two of them stood in silence for probably a whole minute before Emma stepped toward her, wrapping her arms tightly around her best friend.

It might have been Ruby’s fault that their relationship had been broken, but Emma still appreciated that Ruby didn’t give up. She had a lot of people now she could actually count on to stick by her, but that would only continue to be the case so long as Emma _let_ them. Most of those same people she had in her life _now_ might have helped her out of that original mess with Neal if only she’d have talked to them, really explained how she felt and what was happening. But she was so closed off that no one even knew she could have used the help. They might have sensed some uneasiness, that she and Neal weren’t exactly living a fairy tale, but as soon as they tried to talk to her about it she shut them out.

She didn’t want to shut out the people she loved anymore (even if they did kind of deserve it).

“Thanks, Ruby.”

“No prob, Emma. Now how about we eat a _lot_ of food and you introduce me to that adorable baby out there? I’m thinking about stealing him. Shhh, don’t tell.”

“You can’t steal him if I steal him first.”

Emma and Ruby walked back through the house and out the back door and continued on their afternoon as if there had never been a reason to be tense in the first place. Everyone played along – that is, everyone but Killian.

After staring worriedly at her out the corner of his eye for ten minutes, he finally walked over to her, taking her by the elbow and tugging her gently past some tall bushes (as if that gave them some shred of privacy… silly man).

“Sweetheart, what happened? I’m guessing you’re OK now?” His eyebrows furrowed with worry and his mouth hung open while his hands ran up and down her arms. She’d half expected him to be annoyed that Ruby wasn’t desperately apologizing to _him_ – he was technically the most directly hurt, after all. But this wonderful, idiotic man hadn’t seem to have thought beyond Emma’s feelings to actually examine his own.

_Idiot_.

( _Her_ idiot.)

“We’re good,” Emma said, bringing her hand to his face and gently stroking his dark scruff. “She admitted she shouldn’t have done what she did. And I miss her. So she’s forgiven. By me, anyway. Just because we’re together doesn’t mean I’m about to force _you_ to feel the same way about people I do. If you’re still mad, I understand.”

At her admission, his face un-scrunched and his eyes lit up into a peaceful smile. “Oh, love, I told her I forgave her a while ago. But I didn’t want to pressure _you_ to feel the same. I basically told her as long as I had you I didn’t bloody well care what else happened.”

Before she could respond he was kissing her. Not the kind of little kiss you sneak politely when you’re surrounded by people. Nope, this was a definite _behind-closed-doors_ kind of kiss, but she couldn’t really bring herself to care.

He wrapped his arms around her as tight as he could, using his mouth to open hers. When he slid his tongue inside she jumped – _seriously_ their whole families were on the other side of those mostly see-through bushes. She could feel her face turning a deep sort of purple, probably, but she kissed him back with everything she had, anyway. Finally she pulled away, holding her arms straight out to block him from diving back in.

“You’re too good to me,” she said, still out of breath. “But you’re also very inappropriate.” She wagged her finger at him and burst out laughing and when they walked back around the bushes everyone looked at them like _yes we definitely know what you were just doing_ but everyone kept their mouths shut so they all just sat down to dinner like the birthday girl wasn’t a horny mess at all.

 

The afternoon was full of laughing and talking and games and definitely _way_ too much food. David got along all too well with August, to Elsa’s joy. August had been separated from his father as a child, so it was nice for him to spend time with an older man who really wanted to talk and even teach him stuff (they were on _lawn care_ , now – David was very proud of his grass-cutting skills). Colin was a little show-off, soaking up endless attention from Mary Margaret, Ruby, Elsa, and of course his parents and Uncle Killy. And Emma tried to spend time talking to each person in turn who came, just trying to prove without having to _say_ it – how much she appreciated their existences. (She wasn’t really great with words.)

But she was great at eating. A little _too_ great, since Killian had to physically pick her up and carry her to the sitting room in her parents’ house to sleep it off as the party started winding down.

 

When she woke up, it was just Killian’s family and hers, crowded in the living room watching TV. Colin was conked out (she tried not to think about the baby nap time jokes that one of them had inevitably made, probably Liam) and the rest of them were talking about whatever show they were watching – one of those serious ones Emma could never really get into.

“Well good morning, sleeping beauty!” Jasmine called when she noticed Emma’s eyes had finally opened.

“Oh, Jas, I don’t know about _sleeping beauty_. Our Emma isn’t quite that passive. She’s probably a little more _Rapunzel_ , don’t you think?”

“Well Rapunzel was never caught drooling, was she?”

_Oh, no_. One of them certainly took pictures that were horribly embarrassing. And had probably been sent to everyone she’d ever met.

Killian rose from his spot next to David to come kneel next to her.

“No one shall be mocking the princess on her birthday!” Killian said, looking sternly toward his brother and sister-in-law. “Did you have a good nap, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, I feel better now. Why didn’t you stop me at that second piece of cake?” Emma made a pouty face that really only further solidified the baby comparison, but whatever. It was her party and she’d do what she wanted to.

“You said it was your birthday goal! Who was I to argue?” He fluffed her hair with his fingers and fit his thumb in the dimple on her chin.

“Oh, fine.”

“I hate to break up a touching moment, little brother, but the wife and I must be off. It’s a long drive back to Emerald City. Not that _you’ll_ be making it.” Liam winked as he looked down at Emma. Jasmine swatted his arm and hoisted Colin’s car seat into her arms, his diaper bag over the other shoulder.

“Let me help you!” Mary Margaret cried, grabbing for the diaper bag and leading her to the kitchen where she was certainly going to grab some leftovers for them to take along.

David and Liam did the very manly handshake-to-hug maneuver and then started for the kitchen as well. Emma stood, following along to say her goodbyes before the little family headed for home.

Mary Margaret prepared another set of leftovers for Emma, hugging her tightly as she also prepared to go. Her mother’s eyes were impossibly bright, glistening almost as if she might cry.

“Mom, is everything OK?”

Mary Margaret tilted her head to the side, her short hair bobbing just a bit. “Of course, Emma. I’m just so happy for you is all. Happy birthday, baby girl!”

Emma pulled her mother back into a tight hug. She’d probably been bracing for Emma’s anger for inviting Ruby, but everything turned out fine in the end, so why worry about it? Emma thought briefly of telling Mary Margaret what Ruby had revealed – she was just as likely to see Neal as Emma might be – but it wasn’t just talking with _Killian_ about it that might ruin her day. No, that conversation could wait.

She thanked her parents once again for the party and the food and for being generally good human beings one last time before she and Killian each left.

They were in separate cars, of course – Killian had come from work that morning while Emma had come from her house, but now they were heading back to her house _together_ as they often did.

Living an hour apart had its problems – most of which were logistical. They were at that terrifying/wonderful point in the relationship where they’d prefer to stay with each other all the time, not just because it got too late or because they were having too much sex. No, it just felt _right_ to spend the evenings making dinner, him playing some pirate game on Playstation afterward while she leaned against him reading Jane Austen. Then she’d take off her makeup put on pajamas and he’d shower and they’d just lie down and talk and hold each other until they fell asleep. If she had it her way, that’s how every night would be, just them being together, but with him living and working in Emerald City, some days it just couldn’t work.

But they always had the weekends. And she’d _missed_ him.

Which is why they had just barely parked their cars and started toward her front door when she literally jumped on him.

Wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders she kissed him hard, causing him to stumble backward a few steps before catching them both. He put his arms under her thighs to keep her balanced and wrenched his lips back from hers just a few centimeters so he could talk.

“Somebody is impatient, isn’t she?”

“What and you aren’t?” she responded breathlessly. She could _feel_ his impatience between her legs, so it was a rhetorical question, but if he was going to mock her enthusiasm then she certainly wasn’t just going to _take_ it.

“I’m always impatient for you, love.” He kissed her again quickly while still walking them forward toward her stairs. She tilted her head to the side and kissed across his cheek and down his neck, biting down where his shoulder met his neck. He gasped and she soothed it with her tongue, chuckling because they were just so _easy_ to rile up. She pretty much always wanted him, of course, but on days like today when he proved ( _again_ ) just how incredible he was, she couldn’t control herself. Not that he would complain about it.

When they hit the stairs she hopped down, fishing her keys out of the messenger bag slung around her shoulder. Killian stood behind her, kissing down her neck and rubbing circles on her belly underneath her shirt.

“Need a little help there, love?”

“I’ve…” _click!_ “got it.”

As soon as they were inside, Killian kicked the door shut behind them, pulling her face back to his with such force her lips would probably be bruised and yet she didn’t give a flying _fuck_. Not as long as his hands were grazing across her skin and his tongue was stroking hers and her whole body was tingling like it might just be reduced to ash if he ever made the awful decision to stop touching her.

She grabbed for the bottom of his shirt, yanking up on it until he pulled back from their kiss and removed it the rest of the way himself. She put both hands on his chest, raking her fingers down through his chest hair before splaying them out across his abs. She was staring, probably drooling at this point, but holy _hell_ he just never got any less beautiful no matter how many times she saw him.

They locked eyes and laughed again – it was obvious they weren’t making it to her bed (or even to her couch) – so she ripped her shirt over her head and unclasped her bra before sinking down to her knees. Killian started to protest but was quickly shut up when she placed a sweet kiss to the skin just above the button of his jeans. She kept kissing downward, unsnapping the button and then dragging the zipper down with her teeth.

“Oh, _fuck_ – god, Emma.” Killian was panting and speaking incoherently and she hadn’t even really _touched_ him yet. It made her feel powerful that she could make him feel so much and she longed to make him feel _more_. Once his pants were fully unzipped, she pulled them down, nuzzling her face against his boxers.

“Emma, _please_.” He jerked forward, pressing himself further against her so she could feel every piece of him.

“Well only because you asked so nicely,” she practically purred, slowly dragging his boxers down his legs. At that, she took him in her hand, stroking gently before swirling her tongue around him and taking him fully into her mouth. She started bobbing up and down and he let his head fall back against the door with a _bang_. She hollowed out her cheeks, sucking in earnest, and he grunted, his hand going down to tangle in her hair. He was obviously being careful not to thrust into her (or push her into him), just playing with her hair the way she liked, the way that made her feel safe and happy and whatever another word for _loved_ was that didn’t sound so serious.

_Adored_. He made her feel adored.

His groaning got more constant as she let him hit the back of her throat and suddenly he was yanking her back by her hair.

“Ah, _god_ , no. Please, _ohh_ – get up here.”

Emma laughed around him, only serving to make him moan a little bit louder, before finally standing to face him.

“Can I help you?” She laughed, wiping the edge of her lip.

He looked like he was about to catch fire as he ran his hands from her shoulders, over her breasts, down curve of her waist until he reached her jeans. He undid the button and the zipper while looking her in the eyes, dipping down to suckle at one of her breasts as he tugged the jeans down along with her panties. She kicked them off her legs and jumped back up on him, his arms again cradling her ass to hold her to him.

He swung them around so her back was flush against the door, and, yeah, she’d probably have a red mark there to match the ones on her knees, but at least it was getting closer to winter and most of her skin was covered anyway. Nobody would see it all but him.

She brought her mouth back to his, arching against him as she slid her tongue against his. He gave back as good as she was giving, biting at her top lip just to make her chuckle. The door was shaking as she writhed against it, reaching down between them to line him up to her. He thrust inside, causing moans from both of them to break their kiss. With her securely trapped against the door he finally brought one hand from under her thighs to cup her cheek, fondle her breast, smooth along her arms – he was touching her everywhere he could reach while pushing inside her _hard_ and she was whimpering embarrassingly because he felt so good she could just _die_.

“Ohhh, god Killian. I – _oh_ – you feel –”

His body was starting to tremble – they’d better finish this soon or they’d _both_ end up with bruises from falling over god knows what. She was meeting each of his thrusts and he reached between them to rub against her to the rhythm of their movements. She tumbled over the edge first, biting at his (other) shoulder to keep from screaming, while he put his arm back under her to keep her balanced while he chased his own release. She was still whimpering when he finally came undone, grunting and sagging against her.

They were both shaking as she tried to unhook her legs from him. He slipped out of her as he eased her down, and they both just collapsed onto the floor against one another.

Emma wasn’t sure which of them started laughing first, but they erupted into a near-maniacal fit of giggles and howls, legs tangled together, Killian’s face resting on Emma’s heaving chest, her sweaty mass of hair fanning over a pile of their abandoned clothes.

“God, you’re amazing,” Killian finally said, kissing down her arm all the way to her knuckles. “I’ve just – I’ve never experienced anything quite like you.”

“What you mean to say is you’ve never had sex so amazing it reduced you to a giggling mess on your girlfriend’s welcome mat?”

“Yeah, something like that.” They leaned into each other at the same time, kissing slowly, sweetly. Emma was so content she felt dizzy, like it was something other than Earth’s gravity holding her to the ground.

_Ridiculous_. She was ridiculous.

After a few minutes of innocent kisses, Killian pulled Emma up off the floor. “Love, why don’t you go shower? I’m going to use your computer to fill out some paperwork if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah, of course. It’s sitting on the coffee table I think,” Emma called, gathering up their clothes. “Do you want me to just throw these in the laundry with mine?”

“Aye. Thanks, love.” He leaned over the couch, kissing her once more before she went to shower.

Once she was done, she wrapped herself in a towel and went about her nightly routine: applying lotion, drying her hair, finding pajamas. By the time she’d located pajama bottoms on her mess of a bedroom floor (she fully accepted that she wasn’t the neatest housekeeper), Killian was out of his shower, too. As soon as he entered her room she threw him clean shorts (yes he kept clothes at her house now, as she did at his), and the two of them went back into the bathroom to brush their teeth side by side.

It was far from the first time they’d done that, but it had her heart skipping nonetheless. Fucking someone against a wall might be one kind of _closeness_ , but to be comfortable with these tiny little pieces of life together, to be _happy_ during them even, was the only kind of closeness Emma ever really wanted.  

Killian bumped her with his hip just as she was spitting, causing her to miss the sink and dribble on the faucet instead. As retaliation she tried to flick some water at him, but it only ended up splashing back on her (and thus causing Killian to burst into laughter again).

“You _ass_ ,” she grunted as she rubbed furiously at her shirt with a hand towel.

“Awe, sweetheart, let me get that for you.” He pouted a bit and reached toward her halfheartedly, but she just whipped around to exit the bathroom (smacking him with her hair in the process).

God, even the most wonderful men could be such _boys_ sometimes.

~~(But she loved him.)~~

(No, adored _._ She _adored_ him.)

She went about her house, shutting off all unnecessary lights and locking the door and making sure the windows were closed. Once the house was safe (not that anyone was going to break in, but _still_ ), she went back to her room, sitting on the edge of the bed and neatly braiding her hair over her shoulder. Killian would complain – he loved waking up with his nose buried in her flowing mane – but she didn’t want to have to redo it again in the morning and it came out in such nice waves when she slept in a braid. Then again, this would probably be her only night with him this week, and oh _fuck it_ , she’d just leave it down and fix it in the morning.

When he walked in she was just finishing undoing the braid, shaking it back out to fall loosely around her shoulders.

“Awe, for me?” He asked with a wink.

“Oh, shut up.”

He crawled to his side of the bed, curling underneath the comforter and resting on his side facing her.

Emma lay down, huddling herself under the blankets. It wasn’t quite _cold_ yet, but it was far chillier in her house than it had been during summer. It was a relief, really – summer nights with a giant furnace of a man in your bed led to a lot of sweaty mornings (and not for the good reason). With the weather cooling off they could snuggle together far more comfortably. Once _actual_ winter hit it was going to be pretty painful – her house didn’t have great insulation – but she’d probably never be without some kind of _heat_ with him around.

_Oh for the love of god she’d gotten too cheesy._

Killian reached over and took her hands in his. “All right, darling, it’s your last minutes of being 26. Any final thoughts?”

“Is 27 supposed to be any different?”

“Well 27 for me was when you came back to me. So it did turn out to be quite a life-changing year.” He laced their fingers together, rubbing soothing circles between her thumb and pointer fingers.

“I’ve already had that particular life-changing event. It would probably be awfully greedy of me to ask anything more from life for next year, right?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m hoping to make sure you stay this happy from now until… well until you make me leave, I suppose.”

“Well don’t hold your breath for that to happen,” she answered quickly.

But then backtracked: “I mean, _yeah_ , you better watch it, buddy, I might throw you out the door next week. You don’t know.”

She knew he could see right through her, knew that _he_ knew her first reaction was the true one. But she tried to keep her face hard and combative, anyway.

“Guess I’d better start bringing my _A_ game then?”

“You can _try_ ,” she dared, unlacing their fingers so she could turn and face away from him. He scooted up against her back and threw his arm around her, pulling himself solidly against her. She closed her eyes and wrapped both her hands around Killian’s arm, ready to drift into her next year.

 

She awoke lacking the warmth of Killian’s arms around her, which panicked her for a split second before she noticed a different texture up against her skin.

Her eyes shot open to a burst of colors – _balloons_ – absolutely filling every bit of space on her floor and bed. As she sat herself up she swatted them away, trying to clear a path to the closed bedroom door. Briefly she contemplated any possible consequences of opening the door – he couldn’t rig something to drop water on her from out there, right? – but decided she was too desperate for food and Killian-hugs to justify staying stuck in her room.

Her living room and kitchen were strung with crepe paper and ribbon and even more balloons floated along the floor. Vases of flowers lined her end tables and kitchen counter, and a large (handwritten) banner read “Happy Birthday, Emma!” She searched in all the crazy decorations to find the source of them – her stupidly sweet boyfriend – but he didn’t appear to be anywhere immediately visible.

“Killian? Um, are you here?”

“Hello, sweetest boyfriend in the world?”

“Killian Jones, where the fuck are you?!”

She decided to check the bathroom (nothing) and outside (he wouldn’t have left, right? Nope, truck’s still here).

The only room left was the guest room, which _why would he be there?_ But she opened it anyway and there he lay: sprawled out on the floor holding an unfilled balloon near his mouth with scraps of paper and confetti all around him.

The scene was too adorable _not_ to capture, so she tiptoed back to her room, grabbed her phone and walked back in, sitting next to him on the floor before snapping a selfie with his ballooned-out unconscious form.

Before she woke him, she posted it straight to Instagram (captioned _best birthday present ever_ ). After chuckling to herself for a few seconds, she gently shook him.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” she cooed in his ear. “Wake up for me, baby.”

When the shaking wasn’t working, she planted a kiss right on his lips, finally bringing him back to reality.

He gasped when he realized where he was (and possibly _when_ he was – he looked a little like a confused time traveler).

“Oh, no, I _didn’t_!”

“Didn’t what? Pass out while trying to decorate for me? Yes. Yes, you did. But I love it! So thank you for the apparently insane amount of effort you put into this.”

“Nooooooo, the food was supposed to be ready the _second_ you walked out your door. Bloody buggering hell, I can’t get anything right.”

“Can’t get anything right?! You do _everything_ right, you idiot. Now let’s get out of here. I’m hungry. And this floor isn’t very comfortable. You must have blown every last drop of air out of your lungs to pass out down here.” She stood, offering her hand to help him stand. He took it (somewhat ashamedly) and she led him back to the kitchen. He pushed her into a chair and ordered her to _stay_ while he began working on breakfast.

He was scrambling eggs and frying bacon and sautéing vegetables but his phone was dinging far more than it usually does, causing him confusion and a little bit of obvious concern. He picked it up and swiped a few times – Emma trying desperately not to start laughing until _after_ he figured it out – and it only took a minute or so before he threw a piece of bread at her.

“Swan, really?! You photographed me and shared it before you even bothered to wake me up?” 

He threw a few more pieces of bread before she burst out laughing, holding up an old magazine as a shield.

“Stop wasting my food, you _jerk_!”

“Stop sending people pictures of me passed out, you _wench_!”

“I’ll give you _wench_ if that’s what you want,” she said seductively, leaning forward so her elbows pushed up her cleavage, her tank top dipping down low enough to give him quite the show.

“Love, you’ll have to give me a moment to respond to my brother’s endless string of insults and teasings first. And then you’re eating this damn food I’ve just made. Then I’ll happily spend the rest of my day just doing _you_.”

 

That afternoon they were sprawled on her couch, glowing with post-coital bliss, when Killian finally brought up the idea of presents.

“I assumed _you_ were my gift,” she said, poking his nose.

“No, silly girl, you get me every day. For your birthday you need something _special_.”

“Oh, fine then. Give it to me.”

Killian got up, not bothering to cover himself in any way (which was a gift in itself, really). He picked up her laptop and a small, neatly wrapped present, and walked back to the couch.

She drew a blanket up over them both when he sat down – it wasn’t exactly warm in there – and he gave her a hesitant glance before placing both items on her lap.

“Now let me explain. We’ll start with this – ” He opened up the laptop, setting the wrapped box aside. “I know this is something you’ve been wanting to do. And I know you wanted to do it for yourself, so I haven’t hit _send_ on this yet. But I wanted to just get you started and hopefully keep you from having a panic attack while filling it out.”

Emma finally got a look at what was on the screen (and she started tearing up): a completed – but not submitted – application to become a CASA volunteer.

It had been quite a while since they’d discussed it – she spent far less time feeling _unfulfilled_ in her life now that Killian was a part of it – but it was definitely still something she wanted to do. In fact, it might be an even _better_ time to do it now that her life was a bit more together. She’d been so nervous before that she wouldn’t be able to handle the hard times with the foster kids, the sad stories, the cases that reminded her of herself at any age, but knowing she had found a place of real _happiness_ in her life now – now she had the strength to take on that weight.

And Killian knew it. He somehow saw straight into her heart.

“Send it.”

“Don’t you want to check and make sure everything is right at least?”

“I’m sure it is. Just send it!” She leaned over to kiss him soundly, holding his face in her hands. “Have I told you lately how amazing you are?”

“Probably, but truly I’ll never tire of hearing it, love.” Killian pulled the computer back into his lap, locating the button for submission. “Are you positive?”

“Yes.” Emma reached over to take his left hand as he finally clicked _submit_ with his right.

Emma laid her head on his chest, happy to just be _happy_.

Until Killian nudged her sharply in the ribs.

“Hey! What’s that about, Jones?”

“That’s you forgetting your other gift, _Swan!_ ” _Oh, right_. His thoughtfulness at the CASA application had floored her so much, she’d entirely forgotten the tangible gift he’d carefully set next to her just minutes before.

She mumbled an apology and took the little box, ripping it furiously as soon as it was out of his hands. Beneath the wrapping (unsurprisingly) was a jewelry box. Yes, based on the size it was pretty obvious what kind of gift this was. But once faced with the actual box, her movements slowed down. If she opened the lid it would just _be_ there, whatever it was, and she was weirdly nervous about it.

“Sweetheart, it’s not going to bite.”

Emma gave him a sheepish grin, probably blushing a little along with it, before using her thumb to flip open the box.

The necklace was silver – a simple chain holding a delicate tribal-looking design she’d never seen before. Four tight swirls extended out of the edges of a small diamond at the center – or was it sapphire? It had a slight blue hue to it that felt somehow calming. Emma pulled it from its box to look more closely, her heart again flooding with the warmth and _shock_ of how much she mattered to this man who mattered so much to her.

“It’s sort of odd, I know, but the lady told me it’s a symbol for second chances,” Killian started, looking uncertain of her reaction. “And, to me, that felt right. I know that _this_ , what we are now, isn’t anything like how we were before. And not just because of the addition of the fun parts – ” (He gestured to their nakedness and smirked. So _cocky_.) “And I know it was a long time ago, and maybe if we think about it too much it almost seems weird – or absolutely _bonkers_ , even – that we ended up together. But I wouldn’t trade it for the world. What I mean to say is that I’m so happy I got a second chance to get to know you and I hope I might make you a _fraction_ as happy as you make me, love.”

Killian reached over and lifted the necklace out of her hand, unclasping the back of it.

“May I, princess?”

She gathered up her hair and held it off her neck, tilting so she was facing away from him.

“Yes, please.”

The pendant was so light, so fragile, resting in the middle of her chest. Emma liked that it hung so closely to her heart because Killian had turned her into a needy ball of feelings and cheesy poetic thoughts and there was something romantic about the pendant he gave her swinging so closely to the heart she’d given him (without necessarily telling him as much, but it didn’t make it any less true).

He must have liked the concept, too, because the blanket had slipped downward to pool at her waist, giving him a perfect view of her nipples (peaked from the cold), and yet his eyes didn’t leave the dangling pendant.

Emma took his chin in her hand, tilting her head to make him look in her eyes. She probably still couldn’t _say_ how she felt, but maybe it could somehow read it in them.

“It’s absolutely perfect. You’re perfect. And _we’re_ perfect. OK?”

“OK, sweetheart.”

He closed the distance between them, capturing her lips in a deep kiss.

Yes, this was definitely her best birthday ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: "Another Tequila Shot." I can't promise it before next weekend, but I'll try my best.


	12. Another Tequila Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A hundred points if you know the rom-com I took the title of this chapter from!   
> Hope you're still enjoying this little story. Let me know what you think if you're so inclined :)

“Again, Killian? _Please_ don’t bail on me,” Emma answered her phone, not bothering with pleasantries when she _knew_ he was about to ruin her Friday night. Again.

“I’m sorry, Swan, I’ll be working until probably 8 tonight and I have to be back at it by 8 in the morning. We’re still down a mechanic and there’s simply too much to do.” His voice was truly regretful, wrecked with guilt that he was upsetting her. But it was Friday night, _their_ dinner night, as it had been for months now. _Months_.

“You still need to _eat_. I’ll just come over at 8. I can make the food here and bring it in containers so you can eat right when you get home…”

“No, Swan, I’m not making you drive all that way. I’ll see you tomorrow night. And I’ll make it worth your while.” The smirk was evident in his voice – if she could see him he’d probably wink or elbow her or something else flirty and boyish. It would _do things_ to her if she weren’t in depths of misery for being _ditched_.

The last time she’d seen him was Monday – she’d decided to surprise him at the shop and take him out to dinner in Emerald City. He’d been exhausted and his conversation was half-hearted and he wouldn’t let her come home with him even though she made it clear her visit would involve nakedness and whatever flat surface he preferred. She needed to get back home, he’d said. Sleep well and not worry about him so much. He didn’t seem to understand that she slept much better with _him_ at her side.

His distance, his exhaustion, his (seemingly) pushing her away would have worried her more _before_ his reappearance in her life. With any other man on the planet she might have jumped to conclusions of cheating or something equally _not OK_. But she knew that wasn’t it. The pain in his eyes, in his voice when he told her _no_ , cancelled their plans – he was hurting about something that 99% chance wasn’t his fault.

She was trying to be gentle. If she just figured out what it _was_ , she could approach him more easily. Saying the wrong thing was too high risk when she didn’t know what was bothering him. Or why he wouldn’t even tell her there was something in the first place.

But she couldn’t hold it in forever. “Killian, please. Why don’t you want to see me? What’s happening? Please talk to me…”

His reply was immediate, his voice cracking with emotion. “Love, no, of course I want to see you. I miss you so much, the second you leave me. You’re all I want… I just – well, work has been so insane. And, uh, there’s sort of a reason for that and I’ll need to talk to you, but bloody _hell_ I don’t want to do it on the phone.”

That decided it. “I’ll be at your house at 8. And you say one fucking word about how I don’t need to worry about you and I’ll give you a _reason_ for me to worry about you.”

“Emma, I can’t – ”

“Unless there’s something you’re hiding from me, there’s no reason I can’t come over. It’s _my_ choice to be there for you. Let me choose it, for god’s sake!”

She was shouting. And she knew she didn’t _need_ to be shouting. But he made her crazy when he tried to sacrifice his own sanity for hers or whatever gallant thing he thought he was doing by not letting her be there for him.

He let out a deep sigh, probably one of defeat, and told her he’d see her tonight.

She relaxed as they said goodbye, knowing that at least she’d know by the end of the night what was going on with him.

Imagining the worst was easy – was he _dying_ or something? Her life had better not be turning into a Nicholas Sparks novel.

(They’d never be able to find someone hot enough to play Killian in the movie.)

(Is that seriously where her brain was going right now?)

 

Baked ziti was the dinner plan, so Emma went about her business, chopping tomatoes and grating cheese and boiling noodles. It was only 5:00; she still had hours before she would see him, but it was easy enough to throw the dish in the fridge and not actually finish baking it until she was at his house (freshness and all).

Three hours to kill meant Netflix or yoga or a nap or anything to keep her mind off the probably stressful conversation looming.

She, of course, had her own stressful conversation that needed having. It had been weeks now, _weeks_ , since Ruby told her Neal was going to be around and she still hadn’t told Killian. Neal was the past – both Killian’s past friend and her past… whatever you want to call what he was. He wasn’t a great guy and he had _nothing_ to do with their present. His existence shouldn’t matter – that’s what kept Emma quiet. Why muddy up any of her perfect days with Killian all about something that just wasn’t a factor anymore?

But she still needed to tell him. What kind of reaction would Neal have if he saw her? Especially if she were with Killian, it might be distinctively negative. It was no secret they were together – a quick scan of just about any social media platform made it clear their relationship to each other – but there’s still the possibility he would be surprised. And for as total _shit_ as he was to her all those years before, Neal really had loved her. And at some point she’d loved him. It was a long-expired feeling, but she couldn’t deny that it had existed at one point. Until he slowly ripped her apart.

Ugh, even _thinking_ about Neal ruined her night. _Talking_ about it would be far worse. But if Killian was going to come clean about… whatever was bothering him – well, then she owed him a truth, too.

She wasn’t big on reading, but Belle wouldn’t shut up about this John Green book and she _promised_ no one got cancer in this one, so she spent her free hours running and yoga-ing and lying on the floor, all while listening intently to the inner thoughts of a fifteen year-old boy ( _seriously?_ ). Right around the time it was super clear the poor little narrator was falling for the book’s resident _bitch_ , it was time for Emma to shower and make herself pretty and hit the yellow brick road (yes, the joke was still funny).

She kept listening to the book on the drive until it took a turn for the _dark_ – why the hell would Belle think she’d like _this_?! – and decided her thoughts were better distracted by meaningless bouncy pop music. She sang along and danced a little and drummed at her steering wheel all the way until she hit Killian’s parking lot.

Peter had spied her out the little front window as soon as she exited her car (he was probably excited about the food and not _her_ , but it felt good nonetheless). It was 7:56 when she arrived, so Killian was at least 10 minutes from actually showing up, leaving her to _what_ , lean against the door while the dog flipped out?

Neal had been a bad guy. This was established. He did bad things, and he taught some of those bad things to Emma along the way. Some things like… how to pick a lock. It’s not bad when you’re using your powers for good and not evil, right?

Emma pulled the bobby pins from her hair (Killian would like it down better anyway) and slowly worked the lock until she heard the proper _click_. Once the door was cracked open she leaned back down to scoop up the bag carrying dinner, and she let herself inside.

Hug the starved-for-attention dog. Preheat the oven. Put in the large glass dish of pasta deliciousness. Feed Peter. Wait on the couch and hope she hadn’t crossed some line letting herself into Killian’s place without his direct permission.

The look on his face when he finally opened his door at 8:16 was _worth it_. Much like her surprising him after their fight back in the summer, he just looked so unguardedly _happy_. But this time he’d been rendered entirely speechless, which was about a thousand times more adorable if she was being entirely honest.

Pete launched himself off her lap to go dance circles around Killian (that dog _loved_ him) (so did she) (let’s not go there), and Emma followed slowly behind him, still a tiny bit worried he might not have appreciated her ~~breaking~~ lock picking and entering.

“Surprise?” she said, hesitantly reaching her arms out for a hug.

“Oh, Swan, you have no idea how happy I am to see you!” He took her in his arms, squeezing so tight Emma couldn’t breathe. Noticing her strained breaths, he let go, pulling back to give her a sweet kiss on the mouth.   
Her heart stuttered in response, skipping at the feel of him holding her close, looking at her like she was something important. For almost 30 whole seconds, she forgot there was a serious chat ahead.

“I hope you’re hungry. It’s baked ziti night!”

“You always want ziti. Or grilled cheese. You’re a carb-addict, love.” He swept her hair back off her shoulder, running his fingers through it and scratching at her skull. His hands on her felt so good she almost convinced herself the carbs could wait. _Almost_.

He ran to the bathroom to wash up – he was quite greasy (and now so was she… _thanks, jerk_ ) – so she set the table and portioned out some of the food. She’d brought wine, of course, and a few baguettes. She’d brought candles but couldn’t find a single lighter or match in the entire house. What luck.

When they sat down to eat, the conversation was at first very friendly, casual. He told her about annoying customers at the shop and how he was going to have to fix some parts on his boat before he took her out again. They held hands the entire meal despite the complications of eating one-handed. She told him about the upcoming CASA interview and the fact that she once _again_ caught her boss sexting.

“Why don’t we ever do that?” Killian asked as she joked about the photo she wishes she could just _unsee_.

“Your imagination is strong. No need to risk scarring friends, colleagues, and strangers, Killian.”

“Hmmm but I would love to see you in the middle of the day, know you’re _wanting_ me.”

“I always want you, idiot. You don’t need any proof for that to be true.” Emma leaned over the table to capture his lips in a sloppy, sauce-and-cheesy kiss.

It wasn’t until she’d cleared the table and he’d finished the dishes that things turned serious.

He led her to the couch – apparently their serious discussions always had to occur on couches– but this time he motioned her to sit a safe distance from his body. _Not a great sign_.

“All right, love, here it is.” He held one of her hands with both of his own, running his thumb over her wrist soothingly.

“Is this going to make me happier or less happy?” she asked, closing her eyes, not ready for her world to be shattered. God, did he have a secret love child or something? No, no, _no_ , this could be bad.

“That’s kind of the thing, love. I’m not sure.” He ducked his head, his eyes full of worry. “It’s technically a _good_ thing, but it’s going to lead to some we’ll have to figure out. Together. And I don’t want to scare you away – I don’t want to fuck this up, you know?”

“Yeah that’s kind of been our mantra, hasn’t it? _I don’t want to fuck this up_. We should get matching tattoos.”

They laughed together, rolling their eyes at their own antics.

She wasn’t going to let this fuck them up. Whatever it might be.

“Well, sweetheart, the issue is simple. Smee is leaving – something about a job on a cargo ship, I’m honestly not sure – and he needs someone to take over the business. And he wants it to be me.”

A promotion, that’s the problem? “Killian, that’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you. Did you think it would hurt me because you love your job and I hate mine? Or about the whole you’ll-be-busy factor? I can’t believe you’ve been so distant about _this_.” She shook her head, confused and somewhat annoyed.

“Love, it would be wonderful news to take over the business if it weren’t for _you_. I’m already busy. Once I hired the right replacements, it really won’t be that way anymore. We could go back to normal.”

“Great! So what’s the fucking problem?” Emma was starting to get frustrated, not comprehending why this seemingly good news had led him to treat her like a _leper_ for a week.

“I don’t _like_ our normal! I mean, all right, I do. Because _any_ time with you is worth it. But I can’t do this forever, Emma. Traveling an hour each way to see you, having to vacate your bed at ungodly hours to get back to my job on time. Making you travel so much. It’s not fair. And I don’t want to continue like this forever. So I don’t want to put down _roots_ somewhere that would necessitate our current _normal_ to continue. I don’t want to do this halfway shit forever.”

The tears welled in Emma’s eyes, his adoration for her so clear. Once again he was trying to shove down his own feelings, his own enthusiasm and hopes all because he didn’t want to scare her off. Emma had thought she’d changed when she let him in. But she was hurting him still, making him hold back in a way he didn’t deserve.

“But don’t you get it, Killian? I’d do it for you. I’ll drive the whole damn way. _Every_ day. And you wouldn’t have to worry about me for one damn second because I don’t care how tired I am or how much gas money I’m wasting. It’s worth it just for _you_.”

Her voice broke and the tears crested her lids and Killian finally reached over to pull her close, tucking her head onto his chest as he rubbed circles on her back.

“But I don’t want you to. I just want to be in the same place, sweetheart. And I know it’s far, far too early to be talking about _moving in_ or something. And I’m not going to ask you to move to Emerald City for me or something equally insane. But I have to answer Smee this week, and I have to know if that’s something you would do.”

Killian stroked down her hair and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Not now, love. I’m not asking for right now. I just… need to know where we are. Or where we’re _going_. If you think you want to stay with me but _know_ you’re not leaving Storybrooke – or know you’d _never_ want to be in Emerald City – then I won’t take this job. You’re far more important to me than a job will ever be.” He paused. “And please don’t run just because I said that.”

His eyes turned panicky and Emma’s guilt flared. She grasped him tighter and tried to keep her voice level when she spoke: “I won’t. I promise I won’t. Not ever.”

“Never?”

“I’ll stay with you forever, OK? Wherever you go. Or stay. I’m in.”

He nudged her backward so he could look her in the eyes, keeping both hands in hers (holding so tightly her bones might be bruised, but that didn’t bother her one bit).

“So I should take the job?”

Emma moved her hands to his face, brushing fingers over his earlobes and stroking his scruff. She thought of calling him an idiot – he was, after all, to think he wasn’t already an assumed fixture of her future. But now wasn’t the time for teasing.

She stared straight into his dizzying blue eyes. “Yes.”  
And it was a good thing they’d put away dinner and taken care of Pete because he hoisted her up into his arms and took her to bed, and they didn’t leave it until morning.

 

After that day, he stopped complaining about the long drive. There was something about seeing a light at the end of the tunnel that made him much more tolerant of the loss of sleep and the crazy schedules. For two solid weeks she got to see him every day.

Every. Single. Day.

Killian’s work schedule was crazy but they’d have late dinners and then just stay at each other’s houses (actually _sleeping_ and nothing more because holy _hell_ life had gotten exhausting). Emma’s job had started getting busier, too, and she’d resumed having lunches and dinners with the girls again (now that Ruby wasn’t public enemy number one) – Belle had even started a little book club and insisted Emma join – she promised no more John Green.

 

One evening Killian was working late and then signing papers for the shop and having dinner with the new guys and it was after 10 at night and she wasn’t _distraught_ or something – they saw each other all the time and she was capable of being her own person, thank you – but she still _missed_ him. So she told him so.

_Emma: I’m sad tonight._

_Killian: Why, love? I’m sorry_

_Emma: I just miss you._

_Killian: How much do you miss me? You could show me… ; )_

_Emma: I’m still not sexting you._

_Killian: Oh, come on. Pretty please? I just want to see your lovely face._

_Killian: And other parts._

_Emma: Nope, you only get me in person, sweetheart._

_Killian: Then let me see you in person._

_Emma: Your place or mine? ; ) hahaha_

_Killian: It’s late. Meet me halfway?_

 

And that’s how the two of them ended up in the back of Emma’s foggy-windowed Jetta, parked on a snow-dusted road just past the Enchanted Forest, Emma’s skirt up over her hips as she rode him until they were both panting and screaming and overall not giving a fuck if anyone could hear them.

 

A few weeks after, Emma and Killian were settling back into a less frenzied schedule – the shop was fully staffed and officially owned by Killian (a fact which filled Emma with unbridled _pride_ ) and Emma was still a few weeks away from her CASA orientation (yes, her interview had gone well). Ruby had suggested a do-over on their Rabbit Hole experience, and with the holiday season looming Emma thought it was an appropriate time to gather with all the people she loved and basically drink herself silly.

 

They started off the evening respectably – lots of fried food for dinner, slow sips of their accompanying beers, quiet conversation. There was a whole crew of them: Emma, Killian, Ruby, Victor, Elsa, August, Belle, Tink, and Felix. They filled two full tables, but the conversations spilled from one table to the other – at some points it looked like a game of musical chairs they were moving around so often.

It was nice. Emma chewed on her grilled cheese sandwich and talked with Ruby about her clothing store and August about the book her father had lent him (who’d have thought her father and her friend’s boyfriend would have such a _bromance_ ). Killian was seated next to her, gently stroking her hair as she rested her hand on his thigh, but it wasn’t just some _couples_ event. Killian spent a lot of time talking to Tink about their high school adventures – as penance for a food fight he’d started, the biology teacher forced him into the science club’s _orienteering_ event. He and Tink had spent one very _lost_ afternoon in the woods when they’d failed to realize their compass was broken in the first place.

The waitress had cleared their plates and everyone was on their second round of beers when the music started pumping loud and conversation was somewhat strangled. _Leave it to Ke$ha to ruin a nice thing_.

Of course, nothing was truly ruined – in fact, Ruby seemed to think that the good part of the night had finally begun.

“What do you say we switch to something a bit stronger?” She shouted in Emma’s ear, struggling to be heard over the electronic beats.

“Not until you pinky promise me you’re not going to make anyone kiss me.”

“I can’t promise _I_ won’t kiss you, but I won’t be suggesting it to any boys who aren’t currently trying to finger you through your pants.”

“Ruby!” Emma screeched, loud enough that it actually drew Killian’s attention. His hand had only been gently rubbing at her jean-covered knee when Ruby made her _suggestive_ comment, but Emma’s face flared scarlet anyway.

“Is something wrong over her, love?” Killian asked, true concern in his squinty eyes and pursed lips.

“Oh, Ruby is just being inappropriate. But she promises no one’s going to kiss me tonight.” Emma said brightly, glaring toward Ruby.

“Nobody but me, I hope.”

Killian brushed his lips lightly against hers, smoothing back her hair with his thumb.

He was just too sweet for words.

Ruby had scampered off to the bar, surely intent on returning with shots. God knows what she was getting, but she sure was proud of her newly earned ability to buy whole rounds of shots without having to worry she’d overdrawn her bank account.

Emma was guessing the store must be doing even better than Ruby was letting on, when she returned to the table with 9 shots of Patrón.

“Drink up, bitches!” She distributed the little glasses and doled out the limes. Of course, she insisted on licking the salt from Victor’s neck – out in _public_ , before anyone was even flirting with a buzz let alone being _drunk_. But that was Ruby, of course.

After a group _cheers_ , Emma and Killian shot theirs straight – no salt or lime – only a hint of grossed-out-pain in their expressions once they were done.

“Oh, my tough lass,” Killian purred in her ear.

“I know you’re a rum man, but I’ve always been partial to the tequila.” Emma booped him on the nose and then leaned into his shoulder, soaking up the warmth of his closeness mixed with the pleasant burn of the alcohol.

As amazing as her very Killian-centric life has been (in addition to all the weekend meals spent with her parents or his brother’s family), it was a wholly different kind of happy to be surrounded by the love and joy of friends. It’s nice to be silly and carefree and just a little bit appropriate. She loved Colin to death (and wasn’t all that fond of Ke$ha in the first place), but it was amazing to hear music that wasn’t made by the Wiggles or Kidz Bop.

Belle wasn’t usually one for heavy drinking, but just a few minutes after the first round, she came back to the table with another tray of shots. This time they were fruity-smelling and colorful: pineapple upside-down cake flavored, as it were. They all downed them, several moaning at the deliciousness. Killian dribbled a little down his chin, but Emma caught it and lapped it up with her tongue. Yep, the buzz must have been hitting because she didn’t usually do _that_ in public.

No one seemed to notice – at least no one made a comment – but Killian squeezed her a little tighter with approval, his chest gently shaking with the force of his laughter.

Quiet, lanky Felix provided the third round of shots – Apple Crown Royal this time, and once the tray had been passed to all, Ruby made the executive decision they should start dancing.

So far the dance floor was pretty sparse – only the members of a bachelorette party – but when the nine of _them_ descended upon it, hordes of strangers followed suit. Before even one song was over, there was a full crowd jumping and swaying to the poppy beats.

It was terribly hot in there for being so cold outside, bodies pressed tightly, sweat mingling as they bumped each other. Emma and Elsa did some cutesy waltz-like spins right in the center of the floor (the only open space), so in response Killian reached over to dramatically dip August. The four of them laughed and Killian leaned in close to Emma.

“Another tequila shot?”

She nodded her head excitedly, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the bar (and knocking aside some drunken dancers in the process).

Once it was her turn at the bar, she ordered four shots – two tequilas and two rums (much to Killian’s surprise).

“What’s the matter, Captain, can’t hold your rum?”

“It’s the tequila I’m worried about, darling.”

“Then we’ll stick to what we know, then.” And she downed both tequila shots in rapid succession.

Killian followed her lead, knocking back his rum in 8 seconds flat.

She was definitely buzzing and Killian was definitely more gorgeous than usual, so she reached behind his neck, pulling him down to her lips for a deep, bruising kiss.

He looked absolutely delighted, wrapping his arm around her and leading her out to the dance floor once again.

They made it back to their cluster of friends – met with squeals and hoots and hollers as they bounced and swung back and forth to the crazy beats, encouraging the two of them to join. Killian spun Emma to face him, bringing their bodies as close as humanly possible, rocking against her in a manner just _slightly_ too inappropriate for public.

The music was fun and he felt _good_ , so Emma just ground into him harder, feeling how _excited_ the whole thing was making him. She turned to face away from him and his arms encircled her waist, her hips rolling into his. Her hair was turning into a sweaty mess and she should probably have been embarrassed about that or her flushed cheeks or the fact that she was shamelessly working up her already very aroused boyfriend right in front of all of their friends.

Killian buried his face in her neck, first just nuzzling his nose against her hair but gradually working up to gentle kisses and a nip at her earlobe, until finally he was full-on sucking marks into her skin while she ground her ass into him.

Ruby, of course, noticed the inappropriate behavior, dancing her way over to stand directly in front of Emma. She wrapped her arms around Emma’s waist just above Killian’s and leaned over Emma’s other shoulder.

“Are you ready to say thank you yet?” she ~~whispered~~ shouted.

“For what exactly?” Emma shouted back.

“For your obviously very _active_ sex life, sweetheart.”

“Oh, shut up,” she dismissed quickly, shaking her head while she rocked to the beat.

Ruby kissed her on the cheek and flitted back to Victor (who, in her absence had been sandwiched by Elsa and Belle).

Ruby was obnoxious and over-confident and ridiculous, but she wasn’t exactly _wrong_. Emma wasn’t sure exactly how much longer she could stand the teasing between her and Killian. He looked dangerously close to dragging her into the bathroom or back to the storeroom, and as much as desperate-for-her-boyfriend Emma would _not_ be opposed to that idea right now, tomorrow-morning Emma or just-got-caught Emma would definitely have some anger about her having let that happen.

Emma swiveled back to face Killian again, still gently swaying. Her eyes had probably already revealed her intentions – his were certainly translating his own – but she spoke anyway.

“You ready to get out of here?”

He stood back and bowed. “Lead the way, princess.”

They had driven his truck to the bar, but knew that probably wouldn’t be their means of returning home. Belle had, at first, stated she would be the Designated Driver, but (somewhat thankfully – she needed a good time) she decided to let loose instead. Jefferson called to offer to pick anyone up who needed a ride – his mom was staying with him and could keep an eye on Gracie while he made his rounds – but Emma figured it was still a little too awkward for Killian to call on his help.

Instead, they gathered their fluffy winter coats and started off for her house on foot.

The walk was _long_. And cold. Killian held Emma close to his side, both sets of hands gloved but entwined, but they still shivered most of the way. He tried to warm them up with a nice vocal performance ( _it started out with a kiss; how did it end up like this? It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss)_ , but the cold was burning his airways and his choking made Emma start laughing too hard to keep herself upright.

They paused a few times to kiss – she needed his touch like she needed _oxygen_ , for god’s sake (and it certainly added some heat) – but it was only causing them to spend more unnecessary time in the cold.

 

She’d assumed they’d just _pounce_ on each other once they hit her front door, but they were still so cold they were reluctant to remove any clothing.

Her teeth were chattering and his hands were shaking and the heat in her house _sucked_ , so she dragged him to her bedroom and pulled him under the covers without taking off so much as a glove.

“You’d think the liquor would have insulated us better,” Killian said as he pulled her to lie three-quarters on top of him, her drawing the blanket up over them both.

“It’s a myth, you know, that it warms you. Alcohol actually decreases your body temperature.” Emma’s words were slurred and her teeth were chattering, but Killian listened intently anyway. The way he was looking at her, soaking up her words, eager for more, made her feel like a badass professor giving a great speech instead of just his drunk rambling girlfriend.

“Well why didn’t you tell me that before, love?”

She hummed happily. “Wasn’t really thinking about it. I was just thinking about you.” Emma leaned up, pressing her lips against his.

She could still vaguely taste their rum and tequila as their mouths opened, his tongue stroking hers gently. They kissed slowly, her hands cupping his face as his inched under her layers to warm the skin of her back. He angled his head to deepen the kiss further, causing a moan to bubble from the back of Emma’s throat. She tangled her fingers further into his hair, letting her knees open up to fall on either side of Killian beneath the blanket. His hands inched further up her back, just barely brushing the clasp of her bra when the big jacket wouldn’t let him move any further. He groaned in frustration so Emma pushed up off him, sitting back to straddle him across his hips. She unzipped her jacket and threw it to the corner of her room before pulling off her sweater as well.

His eyes were hungry and close to popping out of his head like a cartoon, much like they were back at the bar ( _had they even said bye to their friends? Probably not_.), but they were also filled with the kind of anticipation that only comes with finally being able to _have_ instead of just _want_.

She bent down and kissed his neck, using her hands beneath her to unzip his jacket at the same time. When she leaned back up, she pulled him with her, and he shrugged his jacket fully off before they were upright. She started to tug on the bottom of his shirt to pull it over his head, but the sight of her bare skin had apparently proved irresistible and he kissed and licked at her collarbone, nudging a bra strap down with his nose.

Her skin was suddenly on fire – how could he _do_ this to her so fast when she had just been freezing to death minutes before?

He yanked down the cup of her bra and started sucking harshly at her nipple, his other hand reaching down the back of her pants to cup her ass.

“Oh, ah, _Killian_ ,” she whined, unable to communicate what she wanted him to do (just fucking _take_ her already). The noises of him still suckling at her were practically obscene and were probably enough to make her come undone alone, but she wanted to _feel_ him, make him pant and moan and absolutely as senselessly sated as she knew she was going to be by the end of the night.

He gently bit down and she cried out – “Oh, my god, I need you” – and he chuckled, actually fucking _laughed_ at how clearly strung out on him she was.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she choked out, leaning back to pull her chest from his mouth.

“Sweetheart, I would never laugh at you,” he said lovingly as he reached around to unclasp her bra. It joined the pile of coats in her corner and he leaned back in again, talking so closely that their lips touched. “It just struck me as funny that you would feel like you had to beg for me when I’m so clearly already _yours_.”

“Then _show_ me, already.” Her hands were moving to his pants as she lifted up off him, deftly unbuttoning them and shoving them down his legs. He was struggling to kick them off while she jerked his shirt over his head (bumping his nose along the way… _oops_ ) and dove back into to kiss him passionately.

She was never going to get enough of him, of that she was positive.

No longer worried about the cold (though just slightly concerned she might catch fire if he didn’t get inside her in the next few minutes), she rolled off him and hopped off the bed to shimmy her tight jeans down her legs. The jeans might look hot, but it was about impossible to peel them off her body half-drunk without looking the very opposite of sexy. While she rid herself of her panties, Killian pulled down his boxers and threw them off the bed, shutting his eyes and sinking back into her pillow.

Apparently he was getting a little overexcited, too.

Emma may have stood there staring just a bit longer than was necessary, but he was just so perfect. Every piece of his body was incredible and the fact that it housed the kindest, funniest soul she could imagine was nothing short of a miracle.

She strode back to the bed and crawled up over him, his eyes snapping open the second their skin touched. Her hair falling around her face, her center rubbing slowly against him, she caressed his face and down his neck until her palms lay flat on his chest.

“You tell me I’m beautiful all the time. But you are, too, you know. I mean, yes, you’ve got an ego the size of the _planet_ and I probably don’t have to reassure you of anything. But you _are._ ”

Before he could craft a witty retort or make some innuendo, she crushed her lips against his, rocking into him with a strong thrust, the hardness of him sliding against her and causing her to whine. She teased them both just a little longer before he started to get impatient, grunting and jerking when she wouldn’t adjust so he could slide inside.

 “Emma, _please_. Can’t I have you yet?” His desperation was only making her want to tease him more, but she was too far gone for that now. She spread her legs further and shifted down, lining him up with her and sinking down slowly.

Something about how worked up they were – or maybe just how drunk – but she could feel _everything_ , the drag of him driving her crazy. Her body was threatening to crash over the edge before he was even fully seated in her, and based on the tightening in Killian’s back, his own desperate pleas of _oh god_ and _bloody hell,_ he was feeling it just as much as her. His hands, steady on her hips, reached up to clasp her own, and she pushed their joined hands down on either side of his head.

He bucked up into her then, finally burying himself to the hilt.

“Killian, holy _shit_ , you feel so – oh, _god_ ,” Emma moaned, starting to move over him. He squeezed her hands reassuringly, sweetly, and she responded by leaning down to press a kiss to his chest, his collarbone, his neck, his mouth. He opened for her immediately, stroking her tongue to the rhythm she was riding him, the feeling of being joined at so many points pushing her closer and closer to her climax.

Her breasts were swinging above him, nipples brushing at his chest hair, as Killian started thrusting up as she sank down, their sighs and moans swallowed by their kisses.

The slide of their bodies against each other was intoxicating; every minute with him was incredible, but in this moment she felt so whole, so cared for, so deeply adored. It was too much and not enough and the knots of desire in her belly were about ready to _snap_. She broke their kiss, panting too hard to keep it up. He disentangled their hands, reaching back to her ass to push himself into her deeper, their moans and cries suddenly filling the space of her room.

“Oh god, please, _please_ , I’m so close, baby,” she begged, too lost in all the sensations to feel any shame over the pure desperation in her voice.

“I’ve got you – _oh_ , yes.”

Her nails raked down his back and his fingers dug into her hips and she felt herself fluttering around him, crying out an unintelligible string of curses and terms of endearment mixed with his name.

Her screams were almost, _almost_ loud enough to cover his own grunt, his deep moaning of her name followed by “Christ, I love you so much” as he spilled himself inside of her.

She was still panting and throbbing and shaking and should have been fully distracted by how utterly _satisfied_ she was, but her brain was suddenly full of _holy_ _shit_ and _what did he just say?_ and _what the fuck am I supposed to do now?_

Her first reaction was to act like she hadn’t heard him. He was drunk and coming undone – _hard_ – and it was probably just a mistake. One of those heat-of-the-moment things.

Yeah, he probably _did_ love her – she’d felt ~~adored~~ loved for months now, but had he meant to say it? He was probably going to be disappointed with himself for letting it slip out of his mouth like that.

Or, on the contrary, he’d be disappointed that she didn’t immediately say it _back_. She _had_ fairly recently declared she’d never leave him. Who agrees to stay with someone forever if they _didn’t_ love them. Surely he _knew_. But something had kept him from saying it before, so he had to expect she’d be shocked. If he’d meant to say it at all.

She did love him. God, she loved that man with all her heart. She’d never understood the hyperboles about loving someone so much it hurt, so much you’d die for them, so much that nothing else mattered. Now she got it. He made her understand. He made her better. He made her _whole_.

She collapsed over him, nuzzling her face against his neck as he soothingly rubbed up and down her arms, her back, down to her thighs. His breathing was still labored and his chest was still heaving – she couldn’t detect any discomfort about what he said or how she (hadn’t) reacted. Maybe he didn’t even realize he’d said it.

Finally he stirred, pushing her back upwards so she was straddling his lap. He looked her directly in the eyes, smiling softly. “Time to get cleaned up, don’t you think?”

“But I’m tired,” she whined. “Cant we just sleep?”

“I’ll do anything you want, love, but I think you’d prefer to be comfortable.”

She nodded and he picked her up, walking her toward the bathroom.

“Why are you so good to me?”

“You know why, my love.” He kissed her nose as he walked.

He was being so calm, so sweet, so loving. And by her calculation he had never actually phrased his endearment as **_my_** _love_ before. Had he noticed his admission? And thus noticed her lack of response?

Thinking about it was going suck her down a spiral of shame and guilt and she just wanted to _be_ there with him, feeling his presence, his warmth, and, yes, his love.

He set her down on her tiny vanity, running the washcloth over her still-sensitive skin, before swiping down his own. The sweat was still dripping from her neck, matting her hair together, so he gathered it all up and twisted it into a high bun, securing it with the hair tie she’d left on the back of the toilet. He toweled the sweat off her a bit (then himself), telling her they could take a shower in the morning once they were a little more stable on their feet and she smiled. He was just so _good_ to her.

She insisted on walking herself back to the bed ( _I’m not an invalid, Killian_ ), and they put on pajamas before snuggling up for some well-earned sleep. She should have made him drink some water before bed – so much for her taking care of him in return – but by the time she thought of it his breaths had already evened out and she was seconds from falling as well, into a fluffy, warm, happy, loving sleep.

 

She awoke to a loud banging. Her hangover was an angry one – _was the clanging in her own head?_ – but she looked up to see an equally puzzled look on sleepy Killian’s face, and barring them sharing some weird true-love hangover…

_Love_. Shit. _That_ had definitely happened.

The banging wasn’t quitting and it wasn’t in her head and she’d better go answer the door before whoever it was – Ruby, probably – came barging in and yelling and further causing pain in her skull.

“Want me to get it, love?” Killian rolled away from her, pushing off the bed, before she grabbed his hand and pulled him back down.

She kissed him soundly before getting up herself. “No, sweetheart. Whoever it is, they’ve come to bug me. I’ll handle it. And I’ll bring you back some water. And some breakfast, if you’re lucky.”

He groaned as he slumped back down onto the bed, facedown.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“For god’s sake, I’m on my way. Hold your damn horses!” she shouted, only causing herself more pain.

Emma grasped at the side of her head, rubbing her temple as she swung open the door to reveal the only person on the planet who could possibly make her head hurt _worse_.

“Neal, what the _hell_?”


	13. Running Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, ahoy!

“Hey, pretty girl,” Neal started, flashing his most charming grin – a so-very-practiced contortion of his facial muscles designed to get him what he wants. That grin had gotten him out of many things in his life: speeding tickets, heists gone wrong, nights on the couch after particularly stormy disagreements with Emma.

But it was a _lie_. The man in front of her was not charming. He was not deserving of any form of forgiveness. And for him to have the _nerve_ to try to _flirt_ with her to try to get something from her – God knows yet what it was – well, he was lucky there weren’t any heavy objects within her reach because she was ready and wanting to fucking clobber him.

His smile didn’t falter despite her silence, despite the way she was practically baring her teeth at him like a goddamn wolf.

She could kill him without regret.

The last time she’d seen his face was in the hospital. His dear old daddy had gotten him out on bail and no one had seen fit to protect her from the evil asshole who’d just caused the death of her sweet baby (Henry was going to be his name – if the pregnancy math had been correct, he’d been conceived the night she and Neal had gone to see _My Fair Lady_ and it just sort of felt _right_ ). Her little angel never got to take a breath in this world because of that bastard and he had the gall to come visit her while she coped and recovered – from that loss and her own injuries – to try to beg her forgiveness as she was hooked up on too many machines to run.

Yeah, these days she’d been trying to _fix_ her ridiculous flight-over-fight instinct, but where did it fucking come from? Years of being _left_ by family after family all leading up to betrayal of what had seemed at the time like the love of her fucking life. That hospital had been the _one_ time she had every fucking right to run away – and she literally couldn’t do it.

And now here he stood. Smiling like the goddamn devil he was.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that.” Emma wanted to growl, actually fucking _snarl_ at him, but she couldn’t find the strength (or the will to irritate her headache any further).

He was not part of her life anymore. He wasn’t even a factor. She was fine and happy and _more_ than happy because she’d let him go. She’d moved on and found love that wasn’t _poison_ and _holy fucking shit Killian is going to come out here._

_No._

“Emma, please, just talk to me. I’ve changed, you know. Reformed and all. And despite the fact that you’ve clearly had some fun in my absence,” he sneered, gesturing toward Killian’s truck in her driveway. “I think it’s time we work this thing out.”

Anger flared in her gut like she’d never felt before. The hospital, moving out of their apartment, following his trial through the papers – those things sucked and killed her a little bit on the inside, of course, but she hadn’t yet had the chance to move to _anger_. Back then it had been denial and sadness and painful acceptance, in the end, but now…

Now she was _pissed_.

“There’s nothing to work out, Neal. We’re not doing this. We’re not doing anything. You don’t exist to me anymore. The _minute_ Henry stopped existing, so did you.”

Emma’s voice broke a little on the name of her son, a name not uttered aloud in more than four years. But Neal had known. They’d agreed on it, had used it when they talked to her swollen belly and imagined his life and theirs together.

She was proud of herself for holding together, for not collapsing in a fit of tears like she wanted to.

“You’re going to leave this house, Neal, and you’re never going to come back. I can’t control you or where you live or work or whatever, but I can assure you that I can control how we exist to each other and that’s that we _don’t_. If I see you at the grocery store I’m going to look right fucking through you because you’re not _there._ Do not come back to this house. Do not speak to me. Just _don’t_.”

Neal’s grin had slipped away, but his eyes were still screaming _manipulation_. He was formulating brilliant responses for all the _do not_ s she was lobbing at him, but she wasn’t going to stick around to listen.

He reached his arm out to grab her and she yanked herself back, slipping back into her house and slamming the door behind her. She threw both locks just to be certain he wouldn’t overstep his boundaries and barge inside (that was his style, after all).

Emma sank back into the door, her head dropping to her chest as she tried to process what just happened. The whole ordeal couldn’t have lasted more than two minutes, but with the emotions of _years_ all slammed into that tiny space of time, she was exhausted.

But she knew it wasn’t over, the emotions and the talking and the dealing with the repercussions of her own idiotic decisions.

Neal had come over and shattered her just a little. But what had it done to Killian? If he was broken, it was _her_ fault. Not Neal’s. And the idea of _that_ hurt just about as bad as dealing with Neal in the first place.

Emma finally lifted her head and opened her eyes, ready to deal with round two of today’s pain.

Killian emerged from her bedroom, fully dressed and carrying the rest of his things in one of the promotional canvas totes she had lying at the bottom of her closet.

He was running. Of course he was. It’s exactly what she would have done if the situation were reversed.

“So, Neal has been released from prison apparently?” he asked, a hardness in his eyes mixing with clear concern for her.

“Yeah, he’s out,” she said, exhaling deeply and wishing she could just slip into a brief coma.

“When were you going to tell me?” Killian was holding himself straight, almost too straight, his hands shoved in his pockets as if to keep from reaching for her. Anger and compassion were at war within him and he was trying with all his strength to choose to be _mad_ at her rather than take her in his arms and rock her until her coming tears were spent.

It was only fair, really. He put up with _everything_ for her. Always her. He valued her happiness over his own. Sacrificed his feelings for hers. But everyone had their limits. She could tell he wanted to be there for her, to comfort her in the wake of dealing with her ex.

But he was hurting, too. She saw it in his eyes: he couldn’t sacrifice his entire being for her. And she wouldn’t want him to. So of course he’d have to leave her now.

“I’m sorry, Killian. Ruby told me at my birthday party that his parole hearing had happened and he was going to be released. But I didn’t think we’d see him and I didn’t want his existence to ruin that day for me. For _us_. And every time it crossed my mind… I just didn’t want to hurt us by talking about him.”

“Emma, that’s been _weeks_ now. All you had to do was give me a little heads up! We didn’t need to _talk_ about him. I’d never have made you. You _know_ I’d never have made you dredge up the past if you didn’t want to.”

He was right. He’d never have pushed. His unwavering loyalty, his _perfection_ was starting to reignite the _anger_ Neal had stoked just minutes before. How was she ever supposed to have held on to Killian anyway? She was never going to be enough for him.

He’d set her up for failure.

“What on earth did it matter to _you_? That asshole didn’t kill _your_ baby.”

“No, Emma, he didn’t. And you know that I am deeply sorry for all that happened to you because of him. But you don’t _own_ the concept of disliking him. He’s not just some faceless ex of yours. He caused damage to people beyond you. _I_ hated him well before you did, remember? _I_ don’t particularly like the idea of seeing him. _I_ could have used a warning for my _own_ sanity. I cut that bastard out of my life for what he did to you. Just because we weren’t _this_ yet doesn’t mean I didn’t care for you then. So, yes, it’s your life and your pain, but it was _mine_ , too. And I can’t believe that never crossed your bloody mind.”

Emma sank to the floor, her skin going purple with shame and rage and horror and regret and all the years washed over her, all the pain and the fact that she endured years of misery and why the _fuck_ did any of it happen to her and _oops here came the word vomit_.

“You know what, if you were so all-knowing back then about what a fucking bastard that jerk was, why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you make me leave? You could have saved me years of fucking misery if you’d just _told_ _me_ instead of cutting him out.”

“Really, Emma, _seriously?_ It’s somehow my fault now because I _let_ him break you? I would never, ever tell you what to do, try to force your hand, sway your opinion about _anything_.”

“Oh, yeah, _bad form_ and all that bullshit? Don’t you think it’s worse form to see the future and not fucking say anything?”

Her head knocked against the door as she threw it back in frustration, the veins of her temple beginning to bulge.

“You would have hated _me_ instead of him and you know it. Me telling you to leave him would have just made you run off with him sooner and faster and further. And I’d have lost you entirely.” Killian looked like he might combust, he was shaking so violently. “Additionally, you are your _own_ person. It was never up to me to decide anything for you. It’s still not. I wanted you to be happy. If _he_ made you happy then I was going to fucking suck it up and leave you _be_.”

His chest was heaving and she was gripping the floor with white knuckles, tears stinging the back of her eyes and she needed to stop this conversation or travel back to the past and stop it from ever starting because they were going down a path she wasn’t sure they could come back from.

“Yep, lot of good that did me. Lots of happiness.” Emma rolled her eyes, knowing damn well she looked like a petulant child.

“Emma, I can’t do this with you right now. If you believe that I would ever – I only want the _best_ for you. No matter what. And I’m so angry at you right now that my presence is certainly _not_ in your best interest.”

He pulled on his hair and walked toward her (only because she was blocking the exit).

“I’ll ensure Neal has vacated the premises before I leave, if you would so kindly move from my path.”

“Killian –”

“Please, Emma. I can’t.”

 She stood and stepped aside, keeping her eyes on her feet. She could see the fire in his eyes, the anger and pain, but for just the briefest second it broke, revealing only his concern for her. In that second he lifted his hand to cup her cheek, spreading his fingers wide to thread through her messy hair.

He came back to himself quickly, letting his hand drop as he swung open the door and practically sprinted to his truck.

If only he’d look back at her just _once_. But he didn’t. Less than 12 hours ago he was telling her he loved her, but now, of course, he was leaving.

Emma dragged herself over to her couch, falling face down on the cushions before falling apart completely.

 

She cried and slept and cried and slept, dreaming of a little boy in Killian’s leather jacket, floating away on a plank in the sea.

 

She was awoken by the noise of her phone in midafternoon.

Jasmine. _Shit_. She was supposed to watch Colin tomorrow.

Emma answered the phone and Jasmine was pleasant and casual – it was obvious she had no knowledge of the whole _Killian left her_ deal.

The plan had been established earlier that week: Jasmine was going to an adults-only bridal shower for her friend Meg (she’d moved to Greece where her body builder fiancée lived, so Jasmine rarely ever saw her) and Killian was taking Liam and Pete out on the boat for some _guy time_. So Emma offered to keep Colin for the day, probably in the company of her parents (they loved him so much it was silly).

She wasn’t about to bail on the situation just because her love life turned to _shit_. Jasmine deserved her afternoon and Killian probably needed to rant to his brother about the crazy bitch he’d wasted the last several months with and Emma really did love Colin, so of course she acted like nothing was wrong and told Jasmine she’d be there to pick up the baby by 10 am.

Why hadn’t she just told Killian that Neal was back? It wasn’t even a big deal. Or it wouldn’t have been if Neal’s literal presence hadn’t woken Killian from what was probably a very sound slumber. He’d been happy. He’d loved her. But the shock of his former best friend/her ex-boyfriend (and almost baby daddy) resurfacing like that… it apparently was enough to break _him_. She’d been so concerned with holding herself together that she forgot he was fragile, too.

So much for staying with him forever.

Emma tried to watch Netflix. She tried to go for a run. She tried to read that new book on crocheting that Belle had lent her. She tried to do anything at all that might take her mind of the wretched turn of events so early on this day, but there simply wasn’t anything strong enough to busy her mind.

When it became clear she wasn’t going to distract herself, she folded up on the couch and nuzzled into a pillow facing the back of the couch. She tried to relax but all she could think of was missing his arms and his warmth and his smell and his laugh and she settled for Nyquil-ing herself to a hazy, dizzy sleep that should have lasted her the night.

 

She looked like shit. Her drug-induced sleep hadn’t been very restful and the bags under her eyes from the sheer volume of tears she’d shed in the past 23 or so hours was too much for makeup to cover. She didn’t bother fixing her hair (it sort of looked like she’d been locked in a tower for a few years), and her clothes were lazy – yoga pants, a t-shirt, and a nice zip-up hoodie. It was pretty chilly outside, so she also wore a large jacket, soft gloves, and a gray knit cap.

The drive to Emerald City was long and tedious. Jasmine had offered to meet her halfway, but Emma didn’t want her to waste her time or energy on her “day off” from parenting (plus the car seat exchange was a pain in the ass and better suited for the safety of their driveway).

Liam was gone by the time she arrived – it wasn’t great weather for sailing, so the brothers had decided on a snowy sunrise hike instead.

“I don’t know what has gotten into them two. I usually can’t get Liam out of bed before 10am on Sundays and there he was, gone before the crack of dawn.” Jasmine chatted while she fastened the seat belt through the car seat, grunting a little during the struggle.

“Yeah, those boys… they’re something.” Emma rolled her eyes, trying desperately to remain calm and cool and _normal_.

“Emma, dear, I’m not going to ask you any questions. But I know from your face: something is wrong. And I know from Killian and Liam’s ridiculous sunrise-whatever-idiocy that something is also wrong with Killian. I don’t know what happened, but please, _please_. Don’t give up, ok?” She reached over, placing her perfectly manicured hand on Emma’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. “And don’t take out any frustration over the Jones men on the littlest. Colin, I’m sure, would be on your side.”

Emma’s breath caught and her mouth fell open, spilling words she hadn’t meant to say.

“It’s my fault. I think he’s done with me. So I probably won’t see this little angel much after today.” Emma’s voice turned sing-song, as if baby-talking her worst nightmare made it somehow less real.

“Nonsense. Colin is going to grow up loving his Aunt Emma.” Jasmine shut the door then, punctuating the conversation sharply. She walked around to the open driver’s side window and leaned down. “You’ve got enough food for a week and enough diapers for two. He’s got his toys and his blanket and his pack and play. I’ve probably given you enough stuff that he could move in with you, but please, I would like my baby back by the end of the day. Got it?”

Emma smiled her first genuine smile since waking up the day before. “Can’t promise anything.”

Colin started fussing and crying when they got no more than a mile out of town, but he shut right up and smiled when Emma popped in her _Lion King_ soundtrack. The little boy giggled and squealed through every single song, even when they got to the fourth playing of Hakuna Matata.

(It means no worries.)

 

Emma went straight to David and Mary Margaret’s house where she was told brunch was awaiting them. Mary Margaret, so eager to see the young boy, was waiting at the edge of the driveway (despite the cold) when Emma pulled in, a brand new stuffed Mickey Mouse ready in her hand.

“You know, mom, he’s really more a _Simba_ kid than a _Mickey_ ,” Emma said, walking around the back of the car to hoist Colin out of his car seat. Mary Margaret immediately reached out her arms for the boy, and Emma happily handed him over so she could retrieve the rest of his things from the back of the car. Covering him with a blanket to shield him from the chilly wind, the women walked into the house and set up the pack and play in the middle of the sitting room.

Like Jasmine, Mary Margaret knew something was wrong with Emma. And like Jasmine, she knew Emma didn’t want to talk about it. Once Emma put Colin down to play with his stuffed toys, Mary Margaret reached over to cup Emma’s cheek, swiping her thumb over the bags under her eyes. She tilted Emma’s head down to place a kiss on her forehead, and despite not having any context for what was happening, David joined them in a group hug when he entered the room.

Emma was a lucky girl.

“How’s my favorite little man?” David asked, leaning down toward Colin. “Your daddy isn’t going to be happy, but your friend David has an outfit for you!”

David pulled out a box full of baby stuff, all pointedly black and gold.

“You’re dressing him in _Pirates_ stuff, dad? I don’t get your obsession with Pittsburgh. We live in _Maine_.”

“Loyalty is loyalty, sweetheart. I’m with the Buccos for life. And now this little guy is going to be, too.”

Like Emma, David had been a foster kid. Unlike Emma, David hadn’t been all alone – he had a twin brother that he didn’t know about until he was a teenager. Somehow David had stayed in Maine, where he’d been born (their mother, Ruth, had died of cancer and had no family to take the boys), but James had ended up in Pittsburgh. The story wasn’t clear, but Emma remembered something about James being obsessed with sports and inviting David to his very first MLB game at Three Rivers Stadium after the two found each other. The boys kept in touch, visiting one another back and forth through their teenage years. They’d even had plans to go to the same college once they graduated. But James had gotten attacked on the shady streets of Wilkinsburg by an unknown man (identified only by his large dragon tattoo). He passed before David could even get down to Pennsylvania to see him. So he seemed to use sports to keep James’ memory alive – and now he wanted to pass it down to the next generation.

It didn’t take Emma long to realize the outfit he was dressing little Colin in wasn’t recently purchased. No, David had intended to pass down the love a bit more _directly_ as far as the family tree went. The outfit had been meant for Henry.

Emma would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought of Colin as part of her family from time to time. She’d also be lying if she said she hadn’t imagined, like Jasmine had suggested, providing Colin with a cousin or two someday. And, yes, at first it felt like a betrayal to Henry. But then it just felt kind of _right_.

Though now it wouldn’t be anything at all.

Mary Margaret embraced her again, smoothing down her hair and offering her a reassuring smile. Emma and Mary Margaret went back to the kitchen to eat some waffles and fruit and little mini omelets while David chased Colin in circles. He put down fake bases and gave him a soft bat and took a little video of the hyperexcited child, sending it to Liam with a taunting caption (Liam was a Red Sox fan).

Liam responded to David immediately (threatening his life, of course), which meant that wherever the Jones boys had run off to, they certainly had service.

Emma reached into her pocket to check her phone, wondering if Killian might have tried to contact her.

_Nothing_.

She could always call him herself. Or text him. Or send him a fucking carrier pigeon. But how do you ever capture that kind of _I’m sorry_ with nothing more than words?

He must not _want_ to hear from her. It’s him who said he needed space.

 

Her parents’ front porch was mostly glass, so winter afternoons could turn quite chilly, despite how pretty the view was. Frost clung to the windows and light snow gathered on the bare tree branches outside and the world seemed perfectly placid. Colin was wrapped up tight, napping on Emma’s chest in the dark chestnut rocking chair when she started to shiver just a little. David went to retrieve a blanket to cover her knees (and one for him and Mary Margaret), in addition to a tiny little space heater he plugged in and placed near their feet.

They spoke in hushed tones while Colin napped, talking about Emma’s upcoming CASA orientation, Mary Margaret’s students, David’s recent heroics rescuing a stray cat from a frozen pipe. Emma had been properly distracted by her loving parents and calmed by the steady breaths of the baby on her chest and finally her head was clear enough that she decided maybe she should talk about Killian.

“A bad thing happened yesterday,” Emma started, a lump of shame causing her to choke a little on her words.

“Neal?” Mary Margaret asked, a melancholic smile on her face.

Of course. Somehow her mother knew everything that happened in the world. “You knew?”

“He called here,” David replied. “Your mother threatened if he came near you again to… what was your phrasing, dear? _Rip his heart out with her bare hands_ was the general concept.”

“Yeah, sometimes I go a little _evil queen_ when I’m angry.” Mary Margaret tilted her head into David’s and he kissed her cheek. “He called to _inform_ us that we needed to help him get you to come to your senses. He tried to suggest Killian was a bad guy and I kindly reminded him that if _anyone_ in your life had been bad for you it was _him_. Not Killian. I didn’t specifically _say_ it, but I certainly suggested Killian was your Prince Charming and he’d best leave you two alone.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him that he’d think you’d want him now. Apparently he didn’t learn anything in the slammer.” David rolled his eyes, reaching across Mary Margaret to rub soothing circles on Emma’s knee.

Colin stirred just a little, moving his head from one of Emma’s shoulders to the other.

“Well you got a little ahead of yourself there, mom. Considering Killian _left_ me yesterday, I wouldn’t be listening for wedding bells.” Emma nuzzled into Colin, hoping the baby smell would somehow make this conversation less painful.

“Left you? Emma, he would _never_.” Mary Margaret’s gasp was so loud she nearly woke Colin.

David, of course, looked angry. “Did you have a fight? Was he rude to you? After everything you’ve been through with Neal, Killian should – ”

“No, it was me. I mean, yes, we had a fight. But it started – and _ended_ – with me. I always say the wrong thing. And my ridiculous, irrational reactions pushed him over the edge. Which isn’t surprising. I’ve done nothing but fu– _mess_ his life up since he came back to me.”

Her parents were silent, sharing meaningful looks at one another that were somewhat comforting (because _aw_ her parents were so cute), but also sort of made her want to slap them.

Mary Margaret reached over and took her hand, forcing Emma to look her in the eye.

“Emma, that boy – well, _man_ – Loves you. With a capital _L_. Short of murdering his brother or nephew, I’m fairly certain he’d forgive you anything.” She chuckled, patting Colin’s head.

“But I sort of suggested it was _his_ fault that Neal had hurt me. Which it absolutely was not, obviously. But I was flustered and upset and Killian was looking at me like I was breaking him and I just… snapped.” With the baby in her arms she couldn’t fold into herself, couldn’t collapse, but she still felt the welling of tears, the shaking in her limbs returning from yesterday’s meltdown.

“Call him, Emma.” David’s tone was begrudging, as it always was when he encouraged her relationship with Killian. But his eyes were truly sincere.

“I don’t want to interrupt his day with his brother. He’s been looking forward to this all week.”

Colin started crying then, so Emma stood to go back into the house. The diaper bag was well stocked and her parents had put some baby food in the fridge, so she retrieved the bag and headed to the kitchen. She fed him and changed his diaper, told him a little story about his daddy and uncle, the Pirates of the North Atlantic.

Her parents left her alone, probably sensing that she needed some time to just _not_ think. Once Colin was calm again, they were sitting on the floor, making faces at each other and playing with blocks when the boy crawled across her lap and started tapping at her pocket.

“Emmie, Emmie!” He whined.

“What’s wrong, sweet boy? Colin, what are you looking for?”

He squealed when he felt the glass face of her cell phone.

“Emmie!” He tried to grasp at the phone, but it was too deep in her tight pants for him to retrieve it.

“Colin, have your mommy and daddy been teaching you angry birds?” Kids were getting so smart with technology these days. Ashley’s boy had entirely uninstalled most of her apps once just trying to get at the Tetris game. He’d also posted a blurry selfie to her Instagram one night when he was just two years old.

Emma took the phone out of her pocket and handed it to him (without unlocking it). The boy tapped at it again, pushing it back toward her.

“Killy!” He pointed to the picture on the lock screen of her phone, one of Killian and Pete from the boat.

God, even the kid knew she needed to talk to him.

She mumbled in agreement and Colin went back to his blocks, stacking them just to throw them back toward the ground.

_Emma: Killian, I’m so sorry for yesterday. I was upset and not thinking straight and I didn’t mean to hurt you. Will you please talk to me?_

She typed quickly and hit send before she could question herself. Sounded familiar, didn’t it? Here they were: back in the cycle of hurting and forgiving. Emma just hoped she hadn’t pushed him too far.

His response was immediate.

_Killian: Come over tonight please._

Well that was vague. This is why text messaging was the devil. He could be saying it excitedly. More like _oh thank god she’s talking to me!_ But it might be more along the lines of _it’s bad form to break up over text._

But he’d been right earlier, everything he’d said about choice and wanting happiness for the other person and all that shit that pissed her off for no real reason. If Killian still wanted to be with her then she would do cartwheels (perhaps literally if it weren’t for the thin layer of ice on the ground). But if he didn’t want her, that was his choice. She’d never want him to do anything that made him unhappy. Because she loved him.

And apparently love turned her into a goddamn fool.

_Emma: I’m taking Colin back at 7. Is it OK if I come over then?_

_Killian: Of course, love. I’m actually just taking Liam home. He said you can bring Colin home as soon as you’d like._

Encouraging her to come earlier didn’t sound like a very breakup-talk thing to do, so Emma allowed herself to hope that maybe she hadn’t fucked it all up (again).

(They really needed those tattoos.)

Emma typed out a quick message to Jasmine alerting her of the change in plan, before letting Killian know she’d see him in about an hour and a half.

“Mom, Dad?” She called after getting all of Colin’s things packed up again.

David emerged first from the front porch with a sleepy Mary Margaret in tow. Married almost thirty years and they still looked like lovestruck teenagers cuddled up in the afterglow of a good nap.

“What’s wrong, Emma?” he asked, brows knit together with worry.

“I took Colin’s advice and texted Killian and he wants to talk. So your little buddy here is headed back for time with daddy.” She bounced Colin in her lap, taking his hand and bumping David’s.

“That’s great, sweetheart. But should I be concerned you’re taking advice from a one year-old rather than from your very wise father?”

Emma laughed and hugged him. “Well the advice was the same, so I think you can take partial credit.”

“Keeping the Pirates gear on him, right?” He asked while Emma bundled him up for the ride.

“Of course, daddy.”

 

Another hour of _Lion King_ later, Emma was met with Liam readily waiting at the edge of his driveway.

Does no one wait for her to walk up to their door anymore?

“Well hello there, Emma!” Liam called as he opened up Colin’s door. Emma got out of the vehicle to grab all of Colin’s accessories as Liam snapped him out of the seatbelt and swung the whole car seat toward the house. He spent some time just babbling toward his son, obviously happy to have him back home, before he addressed her again.

He motioned for her to come in the house (out of the cold) and put his arm on her shoulder as he spoke. “I know you’ve got somewhere to be and I don’t want to keep you. But I want you to know something. My brother is a stubborn man. And he can say the wrong thing sometimes. Because that’s just a _man_ thing, I think. But when he loves something, he loves it the whole way. He thought he had love once and it ended poorly. But that’s just because it probably wasn’t love in the first place. But you… with you it’s real. It’s true. And if you don’t love him back, I won’t fault you for it. Just please, _please_ don’t play with him.”

His words stung. The doubt in his own words had, without a doubt, come from Killian’s own thoughts. Oh, fucking _hell_ , she didn’t deserve him, but if she were going to keep him she was going to have to step it up.

There was no place for fear here.

She very nearly responded with blunt honesty to Liam – that she loved Killian more than anything – but she figured true _bad form_ would be telling the guy’s brother about her love for him before she told the _guy_.

“I’m so sorry, Liam. I made a mistake. I was frazzled. You’ve seen me play Taboo – you can only imagine my inability to deal with actual real-life stressful situations.”

They smiled at each other and his face softened and she could tell she was forgiven – one Jones brother down and one to go.

Colin cooed at her and made an almost-wave while Liam leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“Go get him, little sister.”


	14. Promises

The drive was the worst part. It was relatively short – 15 minutes at most from Liam’s to Killian’s – but with no other distractions Emma was forced to face what she was about to do. Apologize? Beg? Grovel? Yes, she’d probably have to do some form of those things (which would be humiliating, to say the least), but more importantly she’d have to make her _declaration_. You know, the terrifying, mortifying admission that her own soul had, without her direct permission, tethered itself to Killian’s in a love so fierce she was fairly certain its power could save the world (or some other hyperbolic shit – God when did she get so fucking _sappy_ ).

Point is: she _loved_ him. She knew it and everyone knew it, but she was going to have to say it because it’s the only explanation for her obnoxious behavior, her overwhelming fear, her lashing out and saying terrible things that had never _once_ crossed her mind before that one (so poorly timed) stressful moment.

15 minutes. She had 15 whole minutes to think about nothing but what she was going to say, what _he_ might say, how she could possibly have gotten herself into this mess of giving her heart away once again.

She’d been young the first time she made this declaration, too young to know what it would mean years down the road. Neal had been the only constant in her life until she’d been adopted by Mary Margaret and David. She’d had a crush on him since her preteen years, she certainly knew she _liked_ him, but once her new parents had promised how much they loved her, explained how that love meant trust and loyalty and the fact that they’d _always find her_ , it dawned on her that _love_ must be what she had with Neal.

So as her adoption party was winding down, Emma pulled Neal into the garden behind her parents’ house, sat him on a bench, took his hands in hers, and made him a promise. _I love you. I’ll always love you. We’ll always find each other_.

He’d said it back and kissed her soundly, probably with a little more passion than 13 year-olds really should express. _Oops_.

For almost a decade she held on to that declaration, that promise. Every time Neal cheated or lied or made her feel like she was no longer the most important thing in his life, 13 year-old Emma paid present Emma a visit. _Don’t break your promise_ , she’d say. It took too many years for her to finally accept that _his_ promises had been long broken and the ~~man~~ boy she fell in love with simply no longer existed.

_This_ moment was nothing like that. Her love for Killian wasn’t a desperate attempt by a lost girl to feel un-lost. It wasn’t an assumption of feeling based on a definition.

Killian was everything. Sure, their relationship – her feelings – probably matched all kinds of traditional definitions. All those corny love songs and Valentine’s cards finally made sense, yes. But loving _him_ was all feelings and _action_ and not just the result of words and logic.

She’d loved Neal _because_ she wanted to be loved, _because_ he was there for her, _because_ she didn’t want to be alone, _because_ she assumed Love could be the only label for what they were to each other.

But there was no _because_ in her love for Killian. There were no clauses. He was probably the most amazing man on this planet – and gorgeous, too – but those things were not the cause of her feelings. If he suddenly woke up ugly, she’d love him all the same. Her love for him was unconditional, unplanned, and uncontrollable. But in the _best_ way.

She spent 15 minutes ruminating on the absolute ineffectiveness of words to express her feelings, losing herself in the frustration of the fact that she’d _have_ to use words because… that’s how life works. You have to _communicate_. Killian and Emma probably felt similar about each other – the _true love_ assumption did seem to go both ways – but it wouldn’t be fair to either of them to just _assume_. They each needed the assurance that they weren’t alone in this thing.

The words had slipped out of his mouth in a moment of passion. Hers would be practiced and intentional. But the circumstances didn’t matter.

She pulled into his parking lot, her heart racing so fast she was genuinely concerned for its ability to keep beating. This probably shouldn’t be the horrifying thing she was treating it as. For some people, saying their _I love you_ was easy as breathing. Some people said it at their first sign of contentment in the relationship. But after everything Killian and Emma had been through, the ways _love_ had burned them before, she knew this was the opposite of casual. This moment _mattered_.

She wasn’t going to fuck it up.

His lights were on and his door was probably unlocked, but did she just walk in? Should she knock? Pete’s barking at the front window signaled her arrival before she could decide and Killian opened the door to let her inside.

“Good evening, Swan.” The bags under Killian’s eyes were dark and deep – he must have been entirely without sleep since she last saw him to justify that severity. She noted his disheveled hair and was dropping her eyes in shame (it was _her_ fault, after all) when she noticed his shirt – that Doctor Who one from the night of the Miner’s Festival.

Blush spread across her face, down her chest, overtaking probably every single inch of her skin. _How could she hurt him like this?_

“Hi, Killian. Are you sure you want to talk? You look… tired. I have important things to say and I – I don’t want you forgetting them come morning.”

Emma had gone an entire 45 seconds resisting the urge to touch him and could deal no more. He obviously missed her – would he really be so mad at her embrace? So she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed tight, tucking her head under his chin (where she fucking _belonged_ for the rest of her life it _quickly_ became clear).

(But she still had to tell _him_ that.)

“I’ve _missed_ you,” Killian breathed, smoothing down her hair.

“You saw me yesterday.”

“Yeah but I was worried that might be the last time.”

She pulled back to look at him, trailing her fingers up his torso to cup his cheeks.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Neal. I just didn’t want to think about how much of an idiot I was and how much time of my life I wasted with that _ass_. And that’s what I was thinking about when I yelled at you yesterday. All the time I wasted. I could have been – I mean, with different circumstances maybe I could have been with _you_ longer.” Emma ran her hands down his face, curling them behind his neck.

“I know, love. And I should have just accepted that you were upset and not allowed myself to think you meant the things you were saying. I shouldn’t have reacted. I could have calmed you down if only I’d – ”

“No, Killian. None of that. You don’t need to _save_ me. You’re allowed to have your own feelings. I hurt you. And I’m sorry. But I just felt robbed of happiness, you know.” She paused, unwinding her arms from around his neck to take his hand in hers. “Can we sit?”

He nodded, leading her toward the couch. He plopped down with a bit too much force, almost as if he no longer had full control of his body.

“Killian, seriously, are you sure you want to do this right now? I think you need to sleep.”

He blinked his heavy lids, lacing their fingers together more tightly. “No, we need to talk. I can’t go to sleep without making this better.”

The guilt was eating her alive. Again. He always tried to take the responsibility for any problem they had. Even when it was caused by her. And it _was_. But there was probably no sense in arguing on that point. She just needed to talk, _confess_ , and then get him to bed (where she would stay, too?).

(Hopefully.)

“OK, Killian. I’d ask you to lie down with me, but if we’re going to do this then you need to keep your eyes open the whole time. Do you think you can do it?”

“Anything for you, my love.”

_Skip, skip,_ _skip_. Emma’s heart faltered.

“I have a question for you,” she started, a seriousness settling in her eyes that felt foreign. (She didn’t want to do this.)

“Why do I feel like I won’t like this question?” Killian asked, his face falling from his previously hopeful glow.

“No, it’s not like that. Um, how do I – I don’t know how to phrase this. Hmm. OK. So just imagine for a second that _something_ – I don’t know what – had been different and I’d bailed on Neal long ago. What do you think would be different now?”

He scrunched his exhausted face. “How honest do you want me to be?”

“Completely. I promise… whatever you say, I won’t run. Or yell. I might cry, but _that’s_ out of my control.” She attempted a sad smile, but it came out more like a grimace.

He took a deep breath. “I think we’d be right here. Sitting on my couch. But we’d be lying down, probably, snuggled up and full of smiles.” At that, he reached his thumb up to Emma’s cheek, running it across her face and pulling one side of her mouth into a smile. He paused another moment (for courage?) before finishing his little fantasy. “Your stuff would be here – all of it, because you’d live here. And the mailbox  would say _The Joneses_ and we’d probably be watching the Wiggles because Colin and his cousins were all obsessed and, you know, it would be our happy ending, I guess.”

She knew he was right. She’d thought it before and it was true – in any version of reality they’d find each other. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? If it weren’t for Neal, for _her own choice_ to be with him, she’d have everything she wanted already. _Family_. She’d missed out on so much.

(13 year-old Emma needed _slapped_.)

“Think Pete would want a friend, too? He’d probably need backup against the kids, don’t you think?” Emma smiled, trying desperately to show she agreed without having to _say_ it.

“You’re right. Pete would need his _Wendy_.”

She sank back into his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart against her cheek. _It’s a good a time as any_ …

“I love you, Killian.”

She heard the thump of his heart, the change in its pace at her words. A few moments passed, almost like he was pausing to make sure it was real, to savor it.

“Sweetheart, you know I love you _so_ bloody much. Have for quite some time now.”

“I know,” Emma said, holding his gaze. “And I’m not going to let that scare me anymore. Or let it upset me thinking about what we could have had. Whatever happened, however it happened… I’m tired of living in the past. You’re my present and my future and I’m so sorry that I’ve hurt you.” She pulled herself up onto his lap, resting her elbows on his shoulders. He leaned into her, their foreheads pressed together lightly.

“I’m fairly certain I’d forgive you anything.”

Emma chuckled. “That’s exactly what my mom said yesterday. Well she said ‘other than murdering his brother or nephew,’ but that’s close enough.”

She leaned into his shoulder and closed her eyes, just enjoying the way he was stroking up and down her back. She could feel in every touch, every breath even, that he loved her and they were going to be _fine_.

“One more serious conversation before I pass out, if you don’t mind, sweetheart?”

Emma leaned back to look in his pretty blue eyes, still so heavy with exhaustion. She couldn’t think of anything they hadn’t covered yet, any serious topic left to discuss.

“Um, all right?”

“It’s nothing to worry that beautiful brain with, darling. I just wanted to know what we were going to do about Neal?”

“What do you mean ‘do about him?’ I told him he didn’t exist to me anymore. I said he shouldn’t ever come back and even if I saw him by accident he’s just _not there_ to me. Do you plan to do anything differently?”

“Well, love, I would like us to be able to just act as if he doesn’t exist, but emotions run high sometimes. And he can be persistent. Don’t you think we should come up with a plan for if we see him? Or perhaps schedule an intentional meeting with the bastard to politely kick him out of our lives?”

“Our _life_ is our business. I don’t want him to bring down a single day of it. We’re obviously not going to move just to run away from him, but with him in Storybrooke and you in Emerald City, there isn’t even much overlap. I think avoidance is our best bet.”

“All right, love. Avoidance it is.” He nodded and lifted up a fist, knocking his knuckles against Emma’s. _True loves and bros at the same time… that’s a thing, right?_

“It’s probably bed time for you now, buddy.” Emma crawled off his lap to stand, taking his hand in hers to pull him upward.

“Yeah, definitely,” he said with a yawn. “I don’t imagine you’re tired enough to join me?” A look of horror crossed his face. “Oh my god, you probably haven’t even eaten dinner yet. I can get you – ”

“Stop it. You need to go to sleep. I’ll lie down with you until you pass out (which will probably be twelve seconds based on your droopy eyes) and then I’ll get me some food and maybe watch some TV and then I’ll come back to bed, too, OK?” Emma pulled him to his bedroom. “I’ll be there when you wake up.”

He nodded in agreement, apparently too exhausted for words at this point (almost a _relief_ ). Emma lifted his (her) shirt over his head and pulled down his comforter while he took off his pants, Emma nudging him until he lay down. She walked to her side but only lay on top the comforter (to keep him from waking when she got back out of bed). As he settled on his back, she inched herself up beside him, draping her arm over his waist and resting her head on his chest. His breath was evening out before she was even fully settled – he really was going to be out in twelve seconds ( _why didn’t that idiot just fucking_ sleep _last night?_ ) – so she just cuddled up and enjoyed the seeming success of their talk. 

“Love you, Killian,” she whispered to her probably already asleep boyfriend, happy that the words weren’t stuck in her throat, suffocating her, anymore.

“Love you more,” he mumbled in return.

A minute later, Emma pulled back slowly, slipping off her side of the bed, intent on heading to the kitchen, but reluctant to leave the happy cocoon of his bedroom.

_Who needed food anyway?_

She yanked down her jeans and rid herself of her shirt and bra, gathering up the shirt she’d just taken off him and pulling it on herself. She crawled under the blankets and settled her body flush against his, returning her head to his chest and stretching her arm around him. His arms encircled her even in his corpse-like sleep, and she drifted off minutes later, happy to just _be._

 

Despite going to sleep at such an obnoxiously early hour, Killian and Emma didn’t wake until after 10am the next day. Emma stirred first, somewhat confused about the light streaming in the window, wondering if this is how it felt when Sleeping Beauty finally awoke from the days-long curse.

She tried to stretch her stiff muscles gently as to not wake Killian, but the second her legs uncurled from his, he grumbled and pulled her closer.

“No, Swan, stay.” His words were muffled by her hair as he buried his face in her messy blonde locks.

“I did stay, sweetheart. All night.”

“Stay longer?” This time Emma could feel the smile on his lips as they brushed against the skin of her neck.

Guess he was awake _now_.

Her back was pressed tightly to his chest, one set of their hands intertwined over her belly. He continued brushing light kisses down her neck to her shoulder and Emma couldn’t help but sigh with pure joy. This was her favorite way to wake up – feeling safe, warm, and so very _loved_.

“Killian, I was going to make us breakfast.” Emma’s voice was somewhere between a whine and a moan, which only served to spur him on.

As she tried (half-heartedly) to wriggle herself free, he bit down lightly on the muscle at the crux of her neck and shoulder. She squealed and he laughed and she couldn’t help but think how much better this morning was compared to her two prior.

When their giggles died down, Killian disentangled their fingers and moved his hand lower to slide up under her shirt. His kisses on her neck became more insistent as his hand brushed closer and closer to where she wanted him. When he finally cupped one of her breasts in his palm, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, she gave in to his _persuasive_ tactics and turned her head to kiss him deeply. He smiled in triumph as she swiped her tongue over his bottom lip and if it weren’t for the steady ministrations of his hands on her breasts she’d probably have broken away to smack him for his smugness.

They stayed that way for god knows how long, kissing passionately, her hands running up and down his arms and hip while his stroked her belly and played with her breasts. Emma loved how much he could make her _feel_ before they were even really _doing_ anything, but her impatience was catching up to her. She could feel how much Killian wanted her (pressed up against her ass), so she rolled her hips into him to make her own intentions perfectly clear.

“Swan,” he groaned, his lips not leaving hers.

“What, don’t you want me?” Emma reached back, running her hand down his side and then beneath his boxers, wrapping her fingers around him. “It certainly seems like you do…” she teased, letting her hand move up and down the length of him.

His own hands had stilled in surprise (but _seriously_ how was he surprised this was what she wanted? She always wanted him), until she started pumping him more firmly.

He moaned, letting his hand wander downward to dip beneath her panties.

“Seems like I’m not the only one wanting, love,” he remarked as he teased between her legs.

“Oh, shut up,” she said, already pushing down his boxers. He chuckled as he continued trailing open-mouthed kisses from her ear to her collarbone. Once Emma had worked his boxers down past his knees he reached down to rid her of her panties. She kicked them off and turned her head back toward him, locking eyes with him, nuzzling her nose against his.

“I love you.” Emma reached her hand back to caress his face as she said it, feeling absolutely giddy that she no longer had anything to hide.

“And I you, my love,” he assured her in return, hitching her leg up as he slid inside her.

He slipped out and back in, rocking against her in a steady, gentle pace. Emma pushed back into him, encouraging him to just fucking _move_ already. She took his hand back in hers, kissing the back of it as she laced his fingers with her own. Their hands went to her belly, him holding himself firmly against her as they rocked together.

“Mmmm, let’s wake up like this every morning,” Emma breathed, moaning when Killian swiveled his hips in response.

“Always, Emma.”

“ _Oh_ , god. _Please_ … M-more.” She started pushing back against him more insistently, grasping the sheets with her free hand.

He pulled out almost completely, slamming back in, moaning in response to Emma’s continued pleas.

“God, woman. You’re going to be the death of me.”

“ _You_ started it.”

_God, they could be so immature…_

Still gently thrusting in her, Killian moved his hands to her hips, drawing her up onto her knees. He brushed her hair across her back and over her shoulder to fall in front of her, pressing gentle kisses to her neck before picking up his pace against her.

The new angle was nothing short of _amazing_ and Emma was panting in no time, pushing back against Killian on every thrust.

“You – oh, my _god_ – you feel so good,” Emma moaned.

Seemingly incapable of formulating words, Killian lifted her shirt to trail kisses down her spine before reaching around to rub against her center. She was so _fucking_ close and every touch, every sound was pushing her nearer to the end – an end she could tell he was rapidly approaching, too.

Killian grunted _loud_ , so loud she might have laughed if she hadn’t been so, well, _distracted_. She pushed up slightly so she could crane her head backwards, capturing his lips in a deep kiss that swallowed both of their moans. His hands gripped her hips so tightly she worried she might have bruises later that day, but before she could give it a second thought she was falling over the edge. He kept up his pace and seconds later he spilled inside her, his own pulsing drawing out her climax, their kiss broken as they both lost their breath to the feel of one another.

Emma’s thighs were shaking – she really wasn’t going to be able to keep herself up much longer – but Killian, the true gentleman he was, caught his breath quickly and eased her back down so she was again lying on her side. He slipped out of her, leaning down to gather up the covers when he noticed she was shivering.

“Better, love?” Killian asked, hugging her closely.

“Ugh, _you_. You distracted me! I wanted to make you breakfast and _now_ I have to go shower first. Just wait here until I tell you it’s ready, OK?”

“Why don’t I join you instead?” Killian’s face was still buried in Emma’s (now very sweaty) hair, but she could still tell he was wagging his eyebrows at her.

“No. Stay right here.” Emma sat up and turned to face him, pinning his hands on each side of his head. “Understand me, mister?”

He leaned up and kissed her on the nose ( _incorrigible_ ). “Yes, princess.”

He followed her anyway.

(She didn’t complain.)

 

After their two rounds of more _enjoyable activities_ that morning, they were both too hungry to wait for the hearty breakfast Emma was planning. They settled on (really, _really_ ) large bowls of Cap’n Crunch instead, holding hands from across the table like one of them might just disappear if they lost physical contact for more than a minute at a time.

(Lovestruck _fools_ they were.)

Emma’s phone buzzed a few times from inside her jeans – still on Killian’s floor – so she deposited her empty bowl in the sink and ran back to retrieve it. Her parents were probably wondering how everything went – Jasmine and Liam, too – and she wouldn’t want any of them thinking she and Killian had killed each other the night before.

But it wasn’t any of their worried family members – her messages were from Ruby.

_Ruby: Hey I really hate to always be the messenger, but I’ve got some awkward news_

_Ruby: Can you call me?_

_Ruby: Your mom thinks you’re with Killian, so I’m just going to call him if you don’t call me back in like a half hour. Pretty please._

Emma’s finger was hovering over her name, ready to call, when she figured she should alert Killian first. _She’d learned her lesson this time_.

“Killian! Do you have any messages from Ruby?”she called from his bedroom.

“No, love, why?”

She went back to the kitchen and sat down on his lap, leaning the phone – open to Ruby’s conversation – into Killian’s line of vision.

His brows furrowed. “Any idea what she’s talking about?”

“I kind of assume it has something to do with Neal. I can’t imagine anything else.”

Killian brushed a wet strand of hair out of her face. “So much for avoidance, sweetheart. Call her?”

Emma tapped the _call_ button and put it on speaker. Ruby answered after just one ring.

_“Emma, finally! I was getting worried.”_

“Oh, calm down, Ruby. It’s me and Killian.”

“Hello, lass,” he chimed in.

_“So you guys are OK then?”_

“Are you asking if we’re OK as in _unharmed_ or OK as in _together_?”

_“I mean both, I guess, but I was asking about your relationship, duh.”_

“Everything’s fine, love. We just had a… misunderstanding.” Killian snuck a soothing kiss to Emma’s forehead (stupid, perfect _bastard_ ).

_“A Series of Misunderstandings… that would be the biography of your whole fucking relationship.”_

“Yes, Ruby. We’re a hot mess. But that’s not currently the issue, is it?” Emma rolled her eyes at Ruby, despite her not being able to see it. Killian nodded his head in agreement. “I’m assuming there’s a Neal alert, but I can’t imagine how or why. So… _spill_.”

_“Yes, your highness. So last night I was out with Victor and – don’t judge me – but we were in the guy’s bathroom fooling around when I heard Neal come in with some other dude and they were talking about_ something _criminal. So, much to Victor’s disappointment, I cut our little romp short and followed Neal back to his booth, just listening. Basically he was saying that he had evidence that his, quote, bitch of an ex, wasn’t exactly as innocent in everything as she’d claimed. And he said he could prove it. He talked about you still having stolen property…”_

Emma felt sick. Not because what he was saying held any truth – of course she was never a part of his criminal behavior, not the big stuff at least. In their teenaged years she’d served as distraction (well, her _cleavage_ did) a few times for a few petty thefts, sure, but she never, _never_ had anything to do with the smuggling, the drugs. And even if he’d planted anything on her, left her carrying (so to speak), she’d gotten rid of anything remotely tied to him _years_ ago.

“Well I don’t. So I don’t know what his game is. Is his daddy going to plant evidence on me or something?”

“Love, isn’t it possible he left something with you all that time ago? You didn’t know what was going on; you wouldn’t have known if it were stolen or if it contained something… illegal inside.”

_“What, do you think he went all_ Cruel Intentions _on her and gave her a necklace full of cocaine?”_

“Ruby. Stop. No, anything he gave me or left with me I sold or dumped when I moved home. The only really sentimental things were a swan necklace and this chest that had been his mother’s apparently. I went with my dad to pawn those the day I got out of the hospital.”

Killian tugged on her shirt, drawing her attention to him. “I’ll bet it’s the necklace. From what I heard through the wall of your house, he’s pretty delusional about his lasting effect on you. He must assume you’ve kept it. Could he have stolen it or something?”

“Yeah, he could have. It had diamonds around the edge – I doubt he could have afforded it if he actually _paid_.” That thought had actually never crossed Emma’s mind before. That gift was one of the few he’d given her that seemed to have required actual _thought_. Even though the whole _swan_ thing was low-hanging fruit when it came to a connection to her, at least it was _something_. She’d worn it daily with pride while they were together. In the end she would have yanked it off her and thrown it immediately in the trash had the nurses not carefully removed it on their own while evaluating her at the hospital. Of course the thing she had valued most back then had been just another _cheat_ of his.

_“So you’re not worried? There’s nothing he can use against you?”_

“No, there’s not. But this proves that he’s probably not just going to leave me _alone_. Do you know who he was talking to last night?”

_“Well Graham was with him, but the guy he was saying this to wasn’t him.”_

Of course he and Graham were still _chummy_. The cop and the criminal. What a pair.

Emma was lost in thought, drifting far away from the phone call with Ruby, getting lost in the past just like she’d promised Killian last night she would _stop fucking doing_.

Killian recognized her distraction and took her phone, politely ending the call with Ruby, thanking her for warning them.

When he put the phone down he wrapped his arms tightly around her, nuzzling his face in her neck.

“What do you need?” he breathed into her skin.

“This is enough.” Emma pulled him closer, wrapping an arm around him and cradling his head against her.

They just sat like that, his lips moving gently across the skin of her neck, her cheek, while she stroked his hair, until her phone buzzed once again.

_Mary Margaret: How did everything go? Did Ruby find you?_

Emma sat up and slid off Killian’s lap.

“We should get ready for the day. I want to go _do_ something. We’ve already called in sick for work. Might as well take advantage of a free Monday.”

“Well what were you thinking, darling… movie, Christmas shopping?”

“Yes and yes. And maybe dinner at my parents’ house?”

“Aye, sounds lovely, sweetheart.”

“I love you,” she said with a smile.

“I love you, too.”

 

They decided on the earliest showing of the new Hunger Games – she’d seen commercials and reviews and it was the very last one, so might as well see it in theaters, right? He’d never seen the previous three, so she had to do a lot of explaining on the way there (and in the popcorn line, and in their seats, and during the movie itself). He’d held her hand the whole time and it made her feel like a teenager, but she loved every damn minute of it. So much so, in fact, that she started losing herself in thought and almost missed the super heartbreak – only coming back to reality when Killian gasped aloud.

“Nooooo,” he whispered in her ear.

“Yeah, some authors can be straight up evil, right?”

 

The mall wasn’t busy – thank god, because Emma was _not_ a crowd person – and they were surprisingly successful on gifts. She found archery equipment for Mary Margaret, new board games for Liam  & Jasmine, a book on kama sutra for Ruby (she’d _love_ that), a few books for Belle, and hoards of toys and outfits for Colin. Killian kept trying to limit her spending on the little guy, but she refused. _I don’t work at that horrible job all day just to let my money sit unspent on the world’s most adorable child, got it?_

 

The drive to Storybrooke was full of road trip karaoke and a sloppy game of _I Spy_ ( _Killian, how in the flying fuck was I supposed to notice the exact color of the candy wrapper four miles back_ ) and if they were just a little late to her parents’ because of an unscheduled and very _handsy_ stop halfway there… well that was just fine with Emma.

 

“So what time do you guys think you’ll be here on Saturday?” David asked, passing the ketchup to Emma from across the table.

“Saturday?” _Did she zone out and agree to something and then forget it?_

Killian reached for her hand under the table, giving it a squeeze. “Christmas, love. We talked about this. Just a couple hours ago, in fact.”

Everyone at the table chuckled, knowing Emma’s capacity for not realizing the obvious.

“ _Oh._ I knew that. Yeah, um, we’ll be here whenever you want?”

“I think what your father was asking was what time you’d be going to Liam’s? So we can plan around it. It’s just us, after all. Regina and Zelena are going to Regina’s new boyfriend’s place this year. Robin – he’s got a son and still has his late wife’s family over as well… we’ll have some stories from _that_ gathering I’m sure.”

“Mom, stop being such a gossip.”

“What?! I’m just saying.”

Emma knew her mother’s tendency to _know all_ (and to _spill_ all, most of the time), and had warned her she should start minding her own business before she got into some trouble.

Killian broke the tension with a suggestion Emma should have offered immediately (tendency to ignore the obvious still in check). “Why don’t we just… all gather together?”

The uncertainty in his voice made her heart sink. After everything, all the promises, the declarations, he was still worried about _too much too soon_ and making her run.

“That sounds wonderful!” Mary Margaret squealed before Emma had a chance to react. “David, call Liam right away. Hopefully they haven’t purchased all their ingredients quite yet.”

David excused himself from the table, chatting away with Liam excitedly after no more than six seconds away from the table. Mary Margaret ran to the kitchen to do inventory on food (cooking for seven is much more than cooking for four apparently). And Emma sat there, just basking in the idea that her family wasn’t quite so small anymore.

“Was that OK, love? I should have asked you first, but – ”

Emma cut him off. “It’s perfect.” She grasped his hand more firmly, moving her other hand to stroke the hair at the nape of his neck.

Based on David’s booming laughter, his call with Liam was a success. Emma was just finishing the last of her (baked) French fries (trying to be _healthy_ and all), when David returned to the table.

“The Joneses will be here at 2. Dinner’s at 4. Is that all right, honey?” he shouted to the kitchen.

“Perfect! Oh, but what will Colin eat?”

“Mom, he’s too little for actual Christmas dinner food. Calm down.”

“You know, it’s so odd. I’m a mother. I _feel_ like a mother. But I never had a baby. I forget these baby/toddler things. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s fine, mom. I love you all the same.”

 

After the four of them had cleaned up dinner, they retired to the living room, catching up on various shows on the DVR. They started with _Hollywood Game Night_ , absolutely laughing their _asses_ off as the confetti went bursting in the actors’ faces when they couldn’t guess the answer in time.

“I wish we could make a version of that game for ourselves,” Killian mused.

“I’m sure your brother would be up to the challenge.” Emma elbowed him and he feigned injury. She rolled her eyes and he winked and how could this little tiny stuff make a person so goddamn _happy_?

They were just about to start the next show in the queue when tires rumbled up the snowy driveway, leading to a knock at the door.

Emma leaned further into Killian as her mom went to answer the door. “Why do I feel like unexpected visitors at my parents’ house are always bad news for me?” she mumbled so only Killian could hear.

He kissed her temple. “It’s probably just a neighbor asking for some sugar, love.”

(It wasn’t.)

David shot them a concerned look, clearly on Emma’s _this is probably a bad thing_ wavelength.   
That’s when the shouting began.

“You have absolutely _no_ right to be here! You’ve been asked _repeatedly_ to leave us alone. _All_ of us. You are not welcome anywhere near any member of this family, and don’t you dare think we wouldn’t take the necessary legal measures to ensure you stay far away, you hear me?”

Emma knew who it was before she heard his voice. No one else would throw her _Snow White_ of a mother into such a near-violent rage.

“Don’t talk to me about _legal_. I could get that little princess of _yours_ into some legal troubles all the same. I tried her house and she wasn’t there, but I’ll bet money she’s _here_. Unless my _former_ best friend just visits you guys for shits and giggles.”

Mary Margaret was practically on fire in defense of her daughter (which would warm Emma’s heart if the situation were slightly less obnoxious). “Emma is _not_ the criminal here and you know it, Neal,” she bit out. “And as for my daughter’s _boyfriend_ and most certainly her future _husband_ , he is welcome to visit us with or without her presence any time he so desires.”

Emma shivered, but decided it was time to intervene. She sprinted to the front door, grabbing her jacket and pushing Neal outside as quickly as she could.

“Mom, I’ve got this,” she shouted back as the door slammed shut.

Screaming at him outside in the snow after he barged in unwelcome… it was becoming a habit, apparently.

“ _Neal_. What in the hell is wrong with you? Yeah, you were a smuggler and a drug dealer, apparently, and you weren’t the greatest boyfriend to me, but you weren’t _this_. Did jail erase your personality or something? Strip you of your general decency? We’ve been over for years, _years_ and we were _over_ before the unfortunate incident of your arrest and my… loss. So why are you suddenly harassing me now?”

For once, it appeared that something she said had hit home. He looked almost…regretful – but only for a moment. Then the anger flared again.

“I lost years of my life, Emma. All for trying to make a better life for _you_.”

“What, did your daddy convince you that’s why you did it? It’s _not_. You were selfish. _You_ wanted things. Toys. Extravagance. God knows what _else_ you paid for when you stopped getting it from me.” She tried to hold down the _actual_ vomit that was threatening to rise up her throat at the memory of her dark life. “Henry and I weren’t ever going to be enough for you. Can’t you just let me go? I’ve moved on. And your badgering and near-insanity these days wouldn’t have exactly convinced me even if I _hadn’t_ moved on.”

Neal paused, his eyes wild with thought. Was he on drugs? Is that why he wasn’t _himself_?

“Can you please, please leave me alone? I love Killian. More than my own life. I’ve let you darken my existence for too long and he deserves me at my lightest. As much as I truly hate you for what you’ve done to me, I still want you to find happiness somewhere. But certainly somewhere _else_.”

Emma had heard the window to her house open, knew that she was being watched and listened to. And she knew they’d probably be disappointed in her for not punching him in his fucking face. But the whole anger thing had just seemed to give him hope that the _passion_ in her might not be all _negative_. So maybe being calm would make him go.

“Emma, you were a bitch for _years_. I should have left you back when you fucked Graham. Such a little whore. Fucking by best friend then. Fucking my _other_ best friend now. Almost seems like you were just trying to taunt me, beg me to take you back and – ”

The door burst open, Killian storming toward Neal with such anger in his eyes she could practically see it pulsing off him. He was _pissed_. Rightfully so, with the knowledge he had of her encounter with Graham. And, of course, her current relationship with _him_ was not even in the same realm as merely _fucking_ , as Neal so _romantically_ suggested. There was a volcano bursting inside Emma, but she still knew – this was not the way.

She launched herself between Neal and Killian, Neal’s smile a little too triumphant at Killian’s rage.

_This was his plan, wasn’t it?_

“No! Killian, don’t. Please, yes, he’s the world’s biggest bastard at this moment.” She shot Neal a glance that hopefully conveyed _I want to fucking murder you_. “But this is what he wanted. Think about it, Killian!”

Killian refused to make eye contact with her, not taking his eyes off Neal’s for a second. His knuckles were white, fists balled at his hips, ready to launch the second Emma was safely out of the way. “I don’t care, Emma, he can’t get away with saying those things to you.”

“Killian, remember what Ruby said. He wanted _me_ to get in trouble, go to jail. What would be the second best option? Getting _you_ put in jail. Don’t make this same mistake twice. I’m not Milah. Nobody saves me but me. And I don’t want you going _anywhere_. _Please_ , just let it go.”

Neal cut in just then. “Oh, _Ruby_ told you, did she? I knew that little bitch was listening. And I _will_ make sure you’re found out. That necklace was very precious to the jeweler it was stolen from. Or so I’ve heard. They’ll charge you even now. No _forgiveness_ there.” Neal sneered. Whether it was drugs or jail or just years passed, nothing could be clearer: this man was _not_ the boy she thought she loved, not even the _man_ she thought she might be able to make a life with. Something had overtaken him, and sadly it wasn’t just some magical curse with a magical solution. He had done what plain old humans did all the time. He _changed_.

“Neal, that necklace has been gone since the day I got out of the hospital. I meant what I said the other day. You stopped existing to me the _second_ I lost Henry. I got rid of everything of yours. You’ve got _nothing_ on me. And Killian is _not_ going to assault you. Neither of us is going to jail. So just _leave._ ”

“You know he’s just going to leave _you_. Everyone does…” Neal chuckled darkly, turning on his heel and storming down the sidewalk to his car, leaving Emma and Killian speechless behind him.

He sped away, his tires slipping on some ice (but not wrecking, _unfortunately_ ).

After a few long moments of silence, Killian closed the distance between them, taking her face in his hands. “Don’t you _dare_ listen to him. Not for one second. You’ve got so many people who will never _ever_ leave you. Your parents, Ruby – ”

“You.”

“Aye, me. Don’t let that prat get to you. You were right to stop me from harming him, but he’s truly despicable.” He wrapped his arms around her fully, kissing her forehead. “I’m sorry that he blackened your life the way he has, but you’re right. You’re my light. Please stay that way.”

Emma pulled back a little to rub her hands up and down Killian’s bare arms – he’d run out of the house without putting on a jacket, of course (silly, idiotic, overprotective man). For the probably millionth time in the last few months she contemplated how lucky she was to have found him again, for them to have woken up and realized that they completed each other the way they do.

“When did you know, Killian? That you loved me, I mean.”

“You mean what moment in time did I realize?”

“Yeah, what did I do to deserve you? When did I make you love me?”

“Well to quote your favorite book, _Emma_ (he drew out the word to emphasize his double meaning), I can’t fix on the day or the spot that I began loving you. I was halfway there before I knew I’d begun.” He ducked down to press a firm kiss on her lips, stopping her hands from warming him (despite his goosebumps) in favor of lacing their fingers together.

Emma sighed, deepening the kiss, trying hard to not think about whether her parents were still watching out the window or not as she stroked his tongue with her own. After a few minutes of frantic kissing – all tongues and teeth and hands and _fire_ – she pulled back and looked him in the eye, pausing to catch her breath.

“You said the quote wrong! Plus, that’s from _Pride & Prejudice_, not _Emma_.”

“Oi! Do I get no points for almost kind of knowing a Jane Austen quote and being able to apply it to an opportune moment?”

“Of course you do, you get _all_ the points, Killian. Now shall we go back inside? I think dad wanted to watch _Naked & Afraid_ and I think that show will make me appreciate how minor my problems really are.”

Killian kept one of her hands, yanking her back toward the house. Both of their lips were kiss-swollen, their faces flushed, their eyes glistening with passion and _love_ – even if her parents hadn’t _seen_ they’d certainly know what they’d got up to – but Emma didn’t care. She just wanted to curl up and watch ridiculous reality tv with the three people she loved most in the world.

“Aye, love. Let’s go inside. Hot chocolate time, perhaps? With cinnamon of course.”

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear what you think (good or bad)!


	15. Countdown

Christmas was too much pressure.

Emma was trying to play it cool, shrug it off like the thought of finding the perfect present for Killian _wasn’t_ making her want to curl up and slip into a lengthy coma.

Yes, Christmas was only a few days away. _You don’t need to remind her._

But all of this shit came so easily to Killian. In many ways he and Emma were kindred spirits, sufferers of the same afflictions, battlers of the same desperate wars inside themselves (that, let’s be honest, at this point they were both definitely _winning_ ). But in other ways, Killian was infinitely more OK than her. He was better with feelings. He was better with commitment. He was better with words, and gifts, and gestures, and she was just good at…

Well, she was still working on figuring out what that was.

But she wasn’t good at Christmas. She loved Killian. Loved him with every tiny fiber of her being. And she was so happy that all their favorite people were gathering for the holiday. But she needed to come up with a present – in the next _three_ days – that would speak for all her floofy, sappy, obnoxiously cheesy thoughts and feelings that she still wasn’t capable of communicating. Not with words, anyway. And she was pretty sure that as much as Killian might enjoy Emma herself _being_ the present he unwrapped, Christmas morning sexcapades were _not_ the proper gift to convey the depths of her feelings.

(That’s not to say that couldn’t be _part_ of the experience, though.)

Emma sat at work, making zero progress on her excel spreadsheet, instead staring blankly at the screen while running her fingers over the swirls of the necklace given to her by the most considerate man on the planet ( _ass_ ).

She couldn’t get him something for his boat. She’d only been out on it a few times and, anyway, he was so particular and she didn’t have a clue. And obviously stuff for his truck was off limits – he was a mechanic for god’s sake. Concert passes? Airline tickets? A lifetime supply of Pixy Stix? ( _come on, Swan, half the fun is the adventure of locating them_ , she could hear him say.)

She was never going to be able to get on his level when it came to thoughtfulness. She would always be in his debt, wouldn’t she?

_Maybe love was about not keeping score._

(The loser always says that.)

 

It wasn’t _just_ because her options were so limited (no more time for online shopping, after all) that she decided to go the homemade route. No, she was always getting him little tokens – ties, t-shirts, silly salt  & pepper shakers (Peter Pan and Wendy, of course), coffee mugs with messages like _The Captain_ – these cute little pieces of evidence of I _know_ you were something she was already good at, no holiday required.

It was the actual words she struggled with. Words he most definitely deserved.

It would take some time to complete the project Emma had in mind, so she (very regretfully) canceled her plans with Killian for the next two nights, opting to not see him again until Christmas Eve.

_Killian: Oh, come on, love. There’s no gift I require more than your company._

_Emma: Stop it! I didn’t say it was gift-related. Maybe I just want to make Friday extra special. Absence makes the heart grow fonder._

_Killian: There’s no way you’d keep away from me for that long without a good reason, love. Additionally, I doubt we could_ get _much fonder of one another._

Emma rolled her eyes, about to retort when her phone buzzed again.

_Killian: You’re an open book, remember?_

_Emma: Shut up._

_Killian: Never. You like my voice. In addition to other things you can only truly enjoy when you’re physically in my presence…_

_Emma: I’ll see you Friday, jackass._

_Emma: I love you <3_

_Killian: Love you, too. Call me when your resolve breaks and you need me tonight ;)_

God, he was incorrigible.

 

They were both off work that Friday (well, he was _on call_ , as the owner and all, but that was a constant thing, really), and she’d finished his present in the wee hours of Thursday night/Friday morning, so their Christmas Eve plan started with lunch. Killian was going to spend that night at Emma’s – it was closer to her parents’ where they’d be having dinner on Christmas Day – and she decided to begin the festivities with some home-prepared food.

It really wasn’t looking much like Christmas. November’s snow had melted so the world was mostly dull and muddy, but a storm was supposed to roll in that afternoon, so hopefully it would be looking a little more like the lyrics of a Christmas carol before Santa was due to fly.

Emma had slept in a little later than usual (it was necessary to her ability to function like a human after so little sleep the past few days), but she still had well enough time to prepare the food. Her hands were shaking and her heart was racing and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath – and it had nothing to do with the sleep deprivation.

She’d never really been excited for Christmas before. Sure, once she had Mary Margaret and David, Christmas finally became more of a _good_ thing and less of a _goddamn_ _tragedy_ , but it always carried the memories of having nothing, the fear that her life could fall back into that meaninglessness at any moment. But now – now she felt solid, safe. She had much to be thankful for (which she’d already ruminated on during the _last_ holiday), but she also didn’t have any more _fear_. And apparently that was scaring her. (Irony.)

She took a deep breath and shot off a few messages to Killian before hopping in the shower and starting the day.

_Emma: Good morning and Merry Christmas Eve! Drive safe, baby :)_

_Killian: Good morning, Swan! You’re sounding awfully chipper this morning. Can’t wait to see you. Fair warning, I might have to take you against the door. Again._

_Emma: Easy, tiger. I’m making a delicious lunch that I fully expect you to eat. Then there’s decorating. So you’d better keep it in your pants._

So, yeah, she might be turned on just by the thought of seeing him and running her hands through his messy gorgeous hair and feeling the tight muscles of his back and dipping her hand down in his… yeah, she was getting off track.

Today she had goals. She was going to do all the things she hadn’t in _years_ , if ever. The sex could wait.

She showered and shook out her hair, letting it dry in her natural soft waves while she started the food. Killian had never been a huge fan of the traditional Christmas food – he’d eat it at her mom’s house, but it was just sort of _eh_ in his book. And she didn’t want anything about this holiday to be _eh_.

So here she was, making his favorite quinoa enchilada casserole for lunch and pulling some pork to marinade and put in the crock pot to simmer until dinner.

 

The casserole was ready to go in the oven when there was a sharp knock at the door. Emma quickly placed the glass dish on the rack and tapped out the correct time before dashing to the door (excited like a kid on Christmas, but _seriously_ ).

Really she should have expected him to go over the top. It was sort of his thing. But somehow she was still surprised when she opened the door to a Santa hat-wearing, giant gift sack-toting smiling _dork_ in a reindeer sweater holding up a bit of mistletoe.

“Good morning, fair mai – ”

Emma cut him off, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him _hard_. He tasted like toothpaste and chocolate and his sweater was tickling her arms and she had no idea she was capable of missing someone so much for only having spent three days without them.

When they were both a little breathless, she pulled back and rested her forehead against his. “Stop preparing speeches for when you come knock on my door. You know damn well you’re not going to get through it before I tackle you.”

“Oh, come on, Swan! Don’t ruin all the fun.”

“What, you don’t think kissing me is fun?” Emma pouted, giving him her best puppy-eye stare.

He held her gaze, his own eyes full of fire and passion and caring and _love_ and her teasing sadness melted away, the magnetic pull of his presence drawing her closer until their lips again met in the middle in achingly slow brushes that had Emma feeling she might just _cry_ she felt so much (what had he _done_ to her?).

“I’d never say that, love. It’s actually one of my favorite things,” he replied, finally hoisting his bag inside and making his second trip to the truck to retrieve his overnight bag and Pete.

“It smells a bit odd in here, sweetheart. What exactly were you making for lunch…?” Killian asked tentatively as he closed the door behind him, obviously trying not to hurt Emma’s feelings with his genuine concern for what she might be brewing up.

“I’m not feeding you rat poison or something. Calm down, idiot. It’s your two favorites! Enchilada casserole for lunch and pulled pork for dinner. I’ll admit they do smell odd while cooking beside one another. I sort of got used to it, but I can light a candle if it’s too weird.”

“No, it’s fine! I was merely curious. You didn’t have to go to all of this effort.  Though I do truly appreciate it.”

“Well you’re kinda special to me.” Emma wrapped her arms around Killian’s torso, leaning her head against his chest.

“Likewise, darling.”

 

They spent the rest of the day on lunch and stocking hanging and tree decorating and using a stuffed Olaf to play fetch with Pete while Killian strung lights the whole way around Emma’s living room. Just before dinnertime the storm finally hit, snow falling down in chunks practically the size of Emma’s face and by the time Pete was licking their plates a whole blanket had fallen outside.

Emma’s first thought was of Colin. Had he ever seen this much snow before? Surely tomorrow at dinner they would bundle him up and help him make snowballs, build him snowmen and watch his eyes light up when he first felt a snowflake on his tongue.

“Perhaps it’s time we take a walk, love?” Killian suggested as he put the last empty decoration box back in Emma’s storage closet.

“You want to walk in the snow storm? Or is this your grand plot to ‘accidentally’ shove me into a snow pile again?”

“Oi! That _was_ an accident!” He poked her shoulder accusingly.

On the last day of school before winter break when Emma was a sophomore in high school, their class had been released early and her crew of friends decided to walk all together to go have a Christmas party at Elsa’s. They were sliding along the slick roads, tossing up snowballs, even dropping down to make some snow angels at times, but Emma was opting _out_ of those antics, trying desperately to keep herself _dry_. That is, until _someone_ “slipped” on a non-existent patch of ice and knocked Emma into a 4-foot snow bank, soaking her whole left side. _What’s the matter, princess?_ Killian had taunted. She was close to punching him in the face before Belle and Elsa intervened.

“Actually, Swan, I was thinking you might fancy a bit of a _Buffy_ moment. Your favorite scene of your favorite episode, if I might recall, is a romantic stroll through freshly fallen snow on Christmas Eve…”

Emma felt her whole body soften, her jaw drop, and for the second time that day she was stupidly surprised by Killian’s thoughtfulness.

Killian took her silence as approval and harnessed Pete, grabbing the retractable leash so he’d have more space to play in the snow. Emma finally came to her senses and grabbed up enough winter gear that she wouldn’t freeze to death, throwing an extra scarf and hat at Killian since he was trying to do the _I’m-a-man-I’m-too-macho-to-freeze_ thing.

They started down Emma’s street, pure white blanket of snow yet untouched by footprints or tire tracks, Emma’s gloved hand in one of Killian’s while his other held Pete’s leash. Emma hadn’t bothered putting lights on the outside of her house (Killian offered to help, but she’d insisted neither of them needed a hospital visit), but nearly every other house within Storybrooke’s limits _had_ , so the three of them just kept wandering through the snow, enjoying everyone’s bright lights and holiday cheer.

Pete was biting at the falling snow and Emma was stumbling along at Killian’s side, resting her head on his shoulder as best she could without falling down, when frantic beeping came from behind them.

“Hey, lovebirds!” came Ruby’s voice from the passenger side of Victor’s SUV. The pair must have been out with the same intention as Killian and Emma, but with an admittedly much warmer strategy.

“Good evening, troublemaker!” Killian yelled in return.

“Do you idiots want a ride? I’m sure you’re itching to go _warm_ each other up.” Ruby put on her best scandalous expression, but Emma rolled her eyes.

“We would appreciate a lift actually. I forgot about the whole _however far we walk we then have to walk back_ thing.” Emma laughed, yanking Killian’s hand toward the vehicle.

“Yeah, you do have one yummy _distraction_ there to make you forget things like logic.”

At that Victor finally spoke up. “Darling, I _am_ still here. Or would you like me to send _you_ walking while I drive them home?”

“Oh, hush.”

When they got to Emma’s, she kissed Ruby and Victor each on the cheek, wishing them a Merry Christmas as she and Pete hopped out of the vehicle.

“What, no smooch from you, Killian?” Victor teased.

“Nah, catch me on New Year’s Eve, doc. It’ll be much more romantic that way.” Killian threw a wink over his shoulder as he and Emma walked up her sidewalk, and Emma could _swear_ she saw Victor’s cheeks go a little bit red.

Once inside, Emma turned up her heat a little and laid out Pete’s dog bed next to the couch while Killian placed his and Emma’s presents under their little Christmas tree. They both stripped down and threw on some comfortable pajamas, brushing their teeth together before climbing into bed.

Emma immediately cuddled up to Killian – he was just so _warm_ – and he in turn wrapped his arms around her, pressing open mouthed kisses down her neck and collarbone until he tilted her head and captured her lips.

But, of course, she broke the mood – full-on yawning in the middle of their kiss.

“Wow, I’m truly losing my touch,” Killian joked, tracing soothing circles on Emma’s belly.

“I’m sorry! I haven’t slept much the past couple nights.”

“Lost without me? I knew it!” He poked her nose as she rolled her eyes at him (again).

“No! But also _yeah_ ,” she said honestly.

“Sleep now, my love, Santa is on his way.” He kissed her once more, a sweet peck on her forehead.

“Fine, you dork. Goodnight. Love you.”

She was asleep before she heard him respond.

 

Emma woke up to a Christmas morning entirely unlike any she’d ever experienced. Just one year before her life had been so different. She’d stayed at her parents (not wanting to wake up totally _alone_ and all), but she still managed to cry for about an hour before the beeping of the coffee maker signaled time to rise and shine. She’d plastered on a smile for her parent’s benefit – and truly enjoyed some parts of the morning, of course – but she’d snapped when pleasant conversation between her and Mary Margaret’s friends had let to Regina suggesting a dating website. Her mom had suggested something similar (though admittedly with a bit more candor than her snarky friend), but it had only served as the last straw in her holiday meltdown. Emma had run to her Bug (without even grabbing her presents), had sped home and didn’t come out of her house until she had to go to work that Monday.

She had fallen into a dark place, was living too much in the past, and holidays always served as magnifying glasses, making every feeling stronger.

_Stronger in either direction_. Since finding Killian, meeting his family, reconnecting with her own friends, finding a volunteer position that was actually rewarding… Emma’s life was so full of light. Waking up that morning to the dim morning sun reflecting off the snow outside her window felt _blinding_. In the best way possible.

Killian was sleeping happily, his face so relaxed just inches away from Emma. He was turned away from her, his unruly hair sticking up in all directions, just one arm peeking out of the comforter (entwined with her own). She lifted it and placed a soft kiss to his knuckles, wanting simultaneously to let him sleep all morning but also to wake him right away.

She opted for the latter. And based on how she planned to rouse him, he probably wasn’t going to complain.

She kept her right hand intertwined with his, rubbing her thumb soothingly as her left hand trailed under his shirt, circling his belly button and wandering up the planes of his chest. His breath caught briefly but remained steady, even as she leaned forward and kissed up his neck, sucking his earlobe into her mouth and nibbling. Killian stirred, shifting closer to Emma, reaching his free arm unconsciously toward her. She stifled a giggle that he was so responsive to her, even in his sleep. _Might as well go big or go home_.

Her kisses on his neck grew more insistent and her free hand trailed lower, dipping down in his sweatpants. Her touches at first were feather light, teasing, trying to ease him awake gently. He groaned – did he think he was dreaming? – so she responded by grasping him firmly, stroking up and down until he was hard and nearly panting. As she worked him with her hand, she shifted her lips so they were hovering over Killian’s, lighting brushing against them as she spoke.

“Time to wake up, sleepy head.”

He sighed again, squeezing their joined hands and nuzzling his face into hers.

“Killian, wake up for me…” She kissed him on the mouth and his lips parted in a gasp. She lightly swiped her tongue across his bottom lip and when he _still_ didn’t seem to fully wake she started to worry that he might not have enjoyed the perfectly restful sleep that she had all night. _Had he not been comfortable last night? Had she snored?_ Maybe she should let him keep sleeping after all.

But one groan of _Emma_ was enough to encourage her. If he thought she was nothing but a dream, she at least owed it to him to make it a really _satisfying_ one.

Keeping their hands entwined, she crawled down his body, lifting his shirt enough to kiss down his abdomen on her way to where she really wanted. Tugging his pants down to his knees, she licked a teasing stripe up his length before sucking him fully into her mouth, her tongue laving as she went. She kept her eyes on his as she started bobbing and after only a few seconds his eyes finally shot open.

“ _Fuck_. Oh…. Holy shit, Emma.”

She chuckled around him and he moaned, reaching his hand down to brush through her hair as he threw his head back, just enjoying the moment. He let her keep going for a few minutes before he tugged on their joined hands, muttering unintelligibly.

“Is there a problem, sweetheart?” Emma rose up on her knees, leaning away from him as his eyes roved over her body, staring hungrily.

“I need you, Emma. _Please_.” Of course she needed him, too. _Badly_. But there was something so painfully adorable about his desperation that she couldn’t help but tease him a little longer.

“And what exactly do you _need_ me for?” she asked, straddling over his thighs, careful not to brush against him any higher. In this moment she wished that she’d done the cheesy, cliché thing and bought the fluffy Santa’s helper teddy, realizing it was difficult to look very enticing atop him in an oversized t-shirt. She settled for running a hand up her own side, brushing under her shirt, dragging it up as she cupped her own breast. That should make him _feel_ something.

Killian groaned. “Bloody _fuck_ , if you don’t get on with it I’m going to flip you over and do it myself.”

“Dare ya,” she challenged, biting her bottom lip and laughing.

_Well, at least he seemed to be enjoying his wakeup call_.

Without any further warning, he grabbed her by the waist, pushing her over so she was on her back. In two swift movements he yanked her shirt over her head and pulled her shorts down so she could kick them off her legs. Before she could get her bearings enough to rid him of his shirt, he’d already (almost literally) ripped it from his own body, leaving them both fully bare.

He nudged her knees apart, settling between them as he laced together both sets of their hands. He was sliding himself against her center, teasing them both as he leaned down, finally giving her a proper kiss. Their tongues stroked one another as he pushed her harder into the mattress, his chest brushing deliciously against her breasts.

Emma cried out when he finally slipped inside her, slowly, deliberately, his mouth working at her neck as he settled in her fully. He bit down lightly and soothed it with his tongue, leaning back to look her in the eyes before he started moving.

If Emma could think straight she would have thought up some crazy, cheesy, embarrassing hyperbole for how he felt sliding inside of her, but all she could do was pant and writhe and moan his name until she realized she was _never_ going be the one to get the better of him, even if she started before he was awake.

They’d been teasing one another for so long that it only took minutes before they were crashing – crying out together, feeling boneless and sated and ridiculously _happy_.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Emma said, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding him above her even as he struggled to shift his weight off her.

“ _God_ , I love you.” He kissed her sweetly, rolling them so they were on their sides. “Was that my first gift of the day?”

“Sort of. I mean you get that every day. I should have wrapped it better for the special occasion I guess.”

“Nonsense.” He kissed her one last time before pulling back, lifting himself from the bed. “Breakfast time, my love?”

They slipped on some clothes and made their way to the kitchen, Emma perching herself on the counter while Killian made hot cocoa and heated up the cinnamon rolls he’d bought from Granny’s the day before. Every moment he wasn’t stirring or pouring or plating, he was wedged between Emma’s thighs, sharing lazy kisses, stroking her hair, relishing in the glory of just being together.

Emma was impatient to get to the gifts ( _kid on Christmas_ , how ridiculous), so she gulped down her hot cocoa too fast and took her whole cinnamon roll in four large bites (choking a little on the last one, icing dripping down her face as her tongue still burned from the cocoa). Killian laughed, delighted at her excitedness. He leaned down and licked the icing off her face, cupping her cheek with his hand and kissing the tip of her nose.

Her heart fluttered as he tugged her off the counter and toward the tree, three moderate sized gifts awaiting them.

“Ladies first,” Killian said, handing her two presents and pulling her up onto his lap in the arm chair. Pete settled at their feet, nudging his head behind Killian’s calves. (Apparently it was too early for the dog to be awake.) (Spoiled puppy.)

(Imagine how spoiled their children would be.)

( _Children_?)

Emma pulled slowly at the ribbon wrapping around the box (had Killian done this himself? Probably. The bastard was good at _everything_ ). She tried to tell herself pretty wrapping was the reason she was taking it slow, but she knew it was fear. No, it wasn’t going to be a _ring_ or something super committal like that. But it still might make her silly DIY job look childish in comparison.

Once the wrapping was completely torn away, an intimidating box remained. It was nice quality, so what was inside was probably expensive. _God, just rip the band aid_.

It was nothing like she expected. The box contained a clean black briefcase, its tag engraved with a _swan_.

“I know you’ll have to carry around paperwork and notes and still look professional and go to court and all that for CASA. So I just wanted you to have something nice! And maybe now you’ll think of me when your days are stressing you out.” He ducked his head down like he was embarrassed or worried as her fingers trailed over the engraving.

“And I know the _swan_ thing is sort of easy. But you _are_ my swan, and I just couldn’t help it.”

Emma’s eyes welled up with tears, thinking of the fake fairy tale he’d told about the Cygnus constellation when he was sugar high at the dugout.

He couldn’t be more perfect.

“I love it, Killian! And I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I’ll have to look super professional. I mean I’m not the lawyer or anything... but I can’t exactly carry around a Lisa Frank trapper keeper.” She rolled her eyes.

“They’re going to trust your judgment no matter what.” _Kiss_. “But at least this way you can stay organized.” _Kiss_. “Now open your other one, love.” _Kiss_.

This time she ripped the paper, tearing it away excitedly. The box was much lighter, almost as if it contained _nothing_.

She dug around among the colored tissue paper inside, finally retrieving one small slip of white paper. It was full of words and times and locations and the only thing that really caught her eye was _David Tennant_ and David Tennant?! Holy fucking shit. The Doctor. She was going to meet the Doctor?

“We’re _meeting_ David Tennant?!”

“Aye! But under one very important condition.” His face turned _stern_.

“My Christmas present has _strings_?”

“Absolutely. Because I’m _not_ taking you to meet him if you’re going to leave me for him. I know he’s happily married but he’s never seen _you_ and believe me if anyone’s going to tempt a man out of his marriage it’s probably you and I can’t be having any – ”

Emma shut him up fast, wrenching his lips open with her own and kissing him silly. She pushed him so he was fully against the back of the chair while she swung her legs so she was straddling him, her hands roving all over his body.

“Swan,” he mumbled against her lips, trying only halfheartedly to push her away.

“You’re the best,” Emma replied when she finally pulled away.

“I know. Just remember. You can ruffle his hair, but you’re coming home to _me_.” _Such an ego_.

Finally it was time to present him with the gift she’d spent two long days on (which had _exhausted_ her soul). She knew he’d at least pretend to like it for her sake, but she was still really hopeful that he might actually like it for _real_.

Reluctantly crawling off his lap, she retrieved the shoebox-sized package from under the tree, placing it on his lap and sitting down on the floor beside Pete.

“What, do I have cooties now?” Killian questioned, obviously hoping she’d have sat back down on his lap.

“I just want you to be able to look at it without me being in the way. Just open it, jerk.” She shook her head, reaching over to scratch behind Pete’s ears.

He tore the paper quickly, revealing the box to be an _actual_ shoe box (from Emma’s super sexy strappy red heels). “Just what I wanted!” he exclaimed teasingly. “Though I do believe these will be a bit small for my feet, love.”

Emma looked down, shaking her head. “Just open it.”

“Yes, your highness.”

He lifted the lid, sorting through the box carefully, his eyes eager but not quite comprehending yet. Finally he found the note explaining the gift, and she kept her eyes to the floor while he read.

The _words_. That’s what she needed to give him. Yeah, she’d said _those_ words, the three that meant so much. But for all of their friendship, their courtship, their _whatever they were_ , she always had trouble talking about what she thought or felt. She always appreciated him. Always. Even when he was just hanging out with her, watching her TV shows to take her mind off of whatever might have been bothering her.

And she for him. They were so important to one another for so many years, and maybe if she’d just _said_ something, they would have realized much sooner that they were far more than they’d ever considered. _Words_ were important, even though she often dismissed their value. The actions, the feelings might be the most important. But it was only fair to quantify the values of those actions and feelings by explaining them to your important people.

So she gathered all the tokens she could, all the pictures from the last ten years, and she wrote him notes on the back of each one, explaining what she was feeling about him in that very moment. Some of them were silly, like the picture of the two of them on stage for _Cinderella_ – he tripped her _mid-performance_ that night, so her feelings weren’t exactly _warm_. But others – they meant much more, despite the casual appearance. There was one of them just hanging out in Elsa’s basement battling it out on Mario Party (she’d spent some time digging in her parents’ attic for long-lost photos), where everything seemed very light, casual. But she knew that wasn’t the case. That day had been the anniversary of a more traumatic day in her life – a time she was removed from a home for a fairly violent incident involving both foster parents and herself – and she had been crying in her room for more than an hour when he arrived to take her to Elsa’s. He’d sat there on the edge of her bed, not touching her, just _being there_ until she’d cried it out and could talk about it. He’d let her just tell him the story and then he rubbed her back and after _exactly_ the appropriate amount of time he started cracking jokes and extending dares and bringing her out of the day of darkness with genuine care and _joy_.

And she loved him for that. Not in the way she loved him _now_ – of course it hadn’t grown _there_ yet back then. But the feeling _had_ been lying dormant for at least that long. She was always heading toward him because he was _always_ there for her.

The pictures weren’t all old, of course. She’d printed out plenty from the camera roll on her phone, detailing her journey from reconnecting with him to truly falling in _love_. She’d included _the_ picture, the one from that first _meet-me-halfway_ walk that had set him off on the single worst things he’d ever said to her. Ever. And, yeah, she had some negative feelings _after_ the picture was taken, _obviously_ , but she wanted to put into words how she was feeling _before_. How he made her feel safe, even if they hadn’t really been on solid ground yet. How somehow she kinda knew even then that something special was growing. (And it was still a very pretty picture.)

Killian had started laying them out one by one, reading them thoroughly, touching the delicate older pictures reverently.

“Please don’t read them all in front of me. There’s a reason I couldn’t say all that shit out loud and it’ll make me uncomfortable. So save them for a night we’re apart maybe. Or something.” Emma giggled nervously.

He put the photos back in the box and set it aside, pulling Emma back up onto his lap. She sank back into him, nuzzling her head into his shoulder, snaking her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly.

“Thank you, love. I can’t explain how much this means to me.”

“Come on, being bad with words is _my_ thing. You’re not allowed to just swoop in and steal that.”

“Well I’ll endeavor to delight you with flowery words another time, then. For now, we should probably start getting ready so we’re not late to your parents’ house.

They showered together (just _showering_ – keep your head out of the gutter), washing each other’s hair and finally ridding themselves of the lingering sweat from their walk the night before and their more pleasurable activities that morning.

Jasmine had texted Emma when they were leaving Emerald City – the roads were still pretty slick, so it would probably take a little more time than usual – but Emma and Killian still headed straight to her parents’ house at 2 (as they were instructed).

Emma had never seen her house look quite like it did. Mary Margaret had lined every doorway and wall with tinsel, lights, garland… every draping Christmas-y accessory you could imagine. There were Santas and reindeer and angels covering every free surface, candles strewn about smelling of forest, cinnamon, and brown sugar, mixing with the enticing scents of dinner: turkey, stuffing, cranberry, and apple pie (Emma’s favorites). Her dad had purchased a fake fireplace, the kind that emitted real heat but only _simulated_ flame, but he also built a makeshift mantle above it – lined with seven personalized stockings (which, she could tell, were _full_ ).

Killian was calmly removing his jacket and boots, just casually exchanging hellos with her parents when Emma broke down crying, her mascara smearing down her face before anyone had even heard her stifled sobs.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret shouted, gasping at her daughter’s seeming grief. “Are you hurt? What’s wrong, baby?”

Killian remained calm, just taking her hand as they led her to the living room, waiting for her to find her words.

And how the fuck exactly do you put words on that kind of reaction. _Sorry to scare you guys, I just love you all so much it came spilling out my fucking eyes_. Emma was _not_ good at this kind of thing. But to see the effort, the care, the love in everything done for this one stupid day… it was too much.

“No it’s not – I’m not… I’m fine. I’m apparently – ” _Sob_. “Incapable of processing happiness.”

David chuckled. “I knew the garland was a bit much, Mary Margaret. You’ve upset our daughter!”

“Oh, hush!” Mary Margaret yelled, still rubbing Emma’s back soothingly as Killian brought her tissues and her purse (containing a mirror to help her fix her clown face before the rest of the Joneses arrived).

“Thanks, Killian.” She unzipped the bag and wiped her face as best she could, gesturing for Killian to hold the mirror as she reapplied a little color to her face.

“Sorry, guys. That’s so embarrassing,” Emma muttered as she put away her purse.

“It’s OK, sweetheart. Cheesy sausage ball?” David offered.

Emma loved appetizers. Her dad always knew how to put a smile on her face (and happiness in her belly).

 

Dinner was fully ready by the time Liam, Jasmine, and Colin arrived. The roads had been slippery but not truly dangerous, so the slow pace was the only thing really delaying them. Colin had cried himself to unconsciousness – much to Emma’s disappointment, the baby was deep in dream land once they arrived.

Fun in the snow would have to wait. They could work off their heavy dinner, right?

They took their places at the table, and while none of them were particularly religious, they decided to join hands (Emma and Jasmine each taking one of sleeping Colin’s) while David said a little thank you to the universe for such lovely company.

 

Colin awoke with a shriek just as Killian was cutting the apple pie ( _how was her belly going to fit any more fooooood?_ ), so Jasmine got out the high chair and fed the messy boy before present time.

Most of the gifts were opened by Colin, to be honest. Emma made sure to keep him away from Mary Margaret’s archery equipment, but otherwise, the little boy seemed to have more fun ripping and tearing at the wrapping paper than he did with his own actual gifts (but wasn’t that always the case?).

Henry crossed Emma’s mind, as he always did around family, children… on holidays like this one. Colin would probably _love_ him. They’d rip and tear together, Colin calling out for _Hen-wee_ as they bounded outside into the snow.

But she could also imagine a different little boy, a younger one, looking up to _Colin_ the way she imagined Colin looking to Henry. Colin sat down on Killian’s lap, handing him the gift from Jasmine for him and Emma and her heart clenched imagining all the possibilities that could lie in her future. He would want that, right? Had they discussed it before? Based on his undying love for Colin, it must be something he’d thought about. One day maybe she’d get the courage to _ask_.

They packed the opened presents back up under the tree (Emma snapping some photos for Facebook) before they all bundled up and headed outside.

Colin was wearing a little snowsuit with a fluffy bear hat, the little flaps so big they covered half of his face. His cheeks were glowing red as he reached out for “ _Aunt_ Emmie” (the familial upgrade had her head spinning – apparently Liam and Jasmine talked about her behind her back a lot because she and Killian had certainly never referred to her as such). They plopped down in a pile of fresh snow behind Mary Margaret’s garden, trying to pack the snow into neat little balls. It turned out the snow wasn’t quite right for building a snowman (“call Elsa, call Elsa!” Colin shouted, making Emma chuckle. _Emma’s_ Elsa was not a fan of the growing popularity of _Frozen_ and if one more person made a _Let it go_ reference to her she was probably going to snap and punch them). So Emma and Liam took Colin’s hand, leading him to another untouched portion of snow, instead showing him how to flap his arms and legs to make a snow angel. He wasn’t very good at it (come on, he wasn’t even one and a half yet), but he _loved_ flailing in the snow and jumping on Emma and Liam as they lay down.

Emma left her parents’ house late that night, filled to the brim with warm and fuzzies. She hugged everyone goodbye, squeezing just a bit tighter than was really necessary, again at a loss for words to explain how _good_ everything felt. Despite that house being her only home for more than a decade, it had never felt _homier_.

Killian spent the night at her house once again, Pete stepping up his _ownership_ of Emma’s place by settling himself on her _couch_ as they prepared to go to bed (and she let him – _spoiled_ ). They brushed their teeth and didn’t even bother putting on pajamas, knowing exactly where the evening was leading.

And after two very passionate rounds of lovemaking, Emma finally got up the courage to say something more than _oh god_.

“He-ey Killian?” she started, uncertainly.

“Yes, love?”

“How do you feel about, um, family?”

“Your family? You know I love Mary Margaret and David! Did I do something untoward to – ”

“No! God, no. Um. I don’t mean _my_ family. I mean – well, it’s just… I mean the prospect of _our_ family. Is that, uh, a _thing_?” Despite being snuggled as close to him as humanly possible, Emma kept her eyes anywhere but on him. If he wanted to tell her that wasn’t something he ever wanted, she’d make sure she gave him a chance to compose himself to do so – she knew he would do anything to keep from hurting even if they _didn’t_ share the same hopes.

“Is it a _thing_ , Emma, really?”

She shifted in his arms, but refused to meet his gaze.

“Of course it’s a thing. I guess I just assumed – I mean, the way you talk about what you’d wanted before and the way you are with Colin. And the way _we_ are with him – I thought you knew that’s what I wanted. Why, have you changed your thoughts? I know I don’t seem like the best option, logically, to be a father, and especially my not _having_ one really, but I swear I would – ”

“No! Stop it right now. I’m sorry I’m so awkward about these things. I just thought about it today and I’ve thought about it before and I know we’re not _there_ yet, not even close, but I just figured it was a good a time as any just to make sure I knew what you were thinking. I’d stay with you no matter what, but I’d have to prepare myself a little for the sadness of never making any _mini-you_ s.”

He used his thumb to tilt her face to his, finally locking his pretty blue eyes with hers. “Why not mini- _you_ , love?”

“Oh, come on, Captain _Ego_. You know you’re a genetic gold mine. A kid with your eyes and your floppy hair and that devilish smirk – he’d be spoiled by everyone.”

“Hey now, I’d want him to look at least half you. That’s the point isn’t it? Put us together and see what happens?” His hands caressed lower, rubbing over her waist and hips.

The desire pooling in her belly at his touch distracted her for a moment, before she realized there was something she needed to immediately address.

“Why did you say you wouldn’t be the _best option_?” She scowled.

“Well, love, like I said – I didn’t have a father. Well, I did, but he was a _bad_ one while he was here and then he bolted. I don’t know that I’d necessarily know what to do.”

“Oh, come on! You had _Liam_. And I’ve seen you with Colin. You’d be my _first_ choice even if I _didn’t_ love you so desperately it hurts.” She stroked his face and kissed him slowly. “But I _do_ love you. And someday, you know, in the next couple decades, I’d like us to make something bigger of that.”

“Me, too, love. Me, too.”

 

Ruby was hosting a New Year’s Eve party at the Rabbit Hole, and Killian was adamant that they should attend.

“Why do we need to be around people?” Emma had whined. “Why dance the night away when you could be fucking instead?”

Killian feigned shock at her language, gasping and throwing his hand over his heart. “Milady, why ever do you use such crass language?”

“Because you love it.” She smirked.

“That I do. But I think we’ve done enough of _that_ this week that we can stand to spend some time clothed and in the company of others. Plus you love dancing. And I love _watching_ you dance.” Killian quirked an eyebrow and Emma’s heart rate spiked and she wished she had more control over her body but apparently it belonged to him at this point entirely.

 

When they got to the bar the night of New Year’s Eve, Killian stopped them at the entrance, pushing her up against the front wall, kissing her breathless.

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear, licking the shell before pulling back.

“If you loved me, we’d still be _home_ , don’t you think?” Emma’s hand snuck under his heavy jacket, slipping gingerly under the waistband of his jeans.

“ _Minx_ ,” he growled, taking her wandering hand into his and pushing her through the front door.

They met with Ruby and Victor, Belle, Elsa and August (their wedding was in just _weeks_ so she was a stressed out mess), Jefferson and Tink (yep, that was a _thing_ now and Emma _still_ couldn’t look the man in the eyes), all huddling around one tiny 4-person tall table next to the bar. The music, surprisingly, was loud but not so loud that they couldn’t talk, so they all spent some time catching up on their lives, their Christmases, what was good on Netflix and Hulu.

Everyone’s lives seemed to be falling together pretty well. For once, no one was drinking to forget a horrible night, a terrible ex, general despair. The countdown to the end of the year was a happy moment for all of their little group, looking forward to the possibilities of the year ahead.

New Year’s Eve was a magnifier, just like Christmas. If you were feeling good, that countdown was _magic_. But if you were full of fear, doubt, sadness – those last ten seconds could feel like a tragedy. This year Emma was full of hope like she couldn’t remember having ever before (it had probably been twelve years since she didn’t feel a burden of one kind or another), and the anticipation up to the countdown was intoxicating, getting her far drunker than the beer was.

But there was always that little creeping worry, inching forward from the back of her mind. Her life had been a bit of a rollercoaster up until now. Was she just climbing another hill only to be dropped in free fall? All the things that were making her happy – these were things she could count on. Her parents were constant forces of good. Her boyfriend was never _ever_ going to leave her. Her volunteering was fulfilling like she’d never understood before. Her joy was emanating from inside of her, and there was nothing threatening to dim that light.

But accidents happened. There were things out of her control. What if she was counting down to an _end_ without even realizing it?

Killian must have sensed her dark thoughts because at that moment he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers, curling his hand around her waist tightly.

“Everything all right, love? You were looking cranky.”

“Oh, just worrying. You know me.”

“You’ve nothing to worry about, darling, your last bad year is about to come to a close.”

“It wasn’t a bad year! I found you, dumbass.”

“Sure, but that first half of the year without me… you must have been so _unfulfilled_.”

“Oh, I can handle myself _just fine_ , mister.”

Killian’s eyes went wide, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

Yep, she made the dastardly pirate _blush_.

 

Ruby climbed up on the bar to switch on the TV – the ball in New York was just about two minutes from dropping. She had the owner lower the volume on the music just a bit as she passed around some party favors – hats and noisemakers and even, much to the owner’s horror, packets of glitter. Everyone gathered around the TV, Victor coming to rub against Killian.

“Don’t think I forgot about our deal,” Victor said, elbowing Killian lightly.

“Of course, my love,” Killian shot back at him with a mock-heated glance.

The lights on the TV screen got brighter and the music swelled and people had started to countdown (sloppily) from 30. The whole bar joined in at the final ten seconds.

**10**

(her happiness level on a scale from 1-10)

**9**

(times she’d happy-cried in the past month)

**8**

(perfect days that Killian & Pete have spent at her house _in a row_ )

**7**

(people she now considered _family_ )

**6**

(months she’d been with Killian)

**5**

(beers she’d had tonight before her face went a little fuzzy)

**4**

(Miranda Lambert songs she’d ~~sung~~ screamed into her ~~microphone~~ straw)

**3**

(best friends who loved her no matter what)

**2**

(foster children she’d be advocating for next year)

**1**

(man beside her who was her _true fucking love_ and holy shit how has this become her life?)

Noise makers sounded and drunk people shouted and glitter fell down like rain. True to his word, Killian leaned over to Victor, pressing a _smacking_ kiss to his cheek, before turning back to Emma and diving in for a kiss so passionate her toes curled. Ruby was hooting and hollering beside her, making all kinds of dirty comments, but Emma didn’t care. She just kept kissing Killian like the world might end in ten more seconds (and she kind of might not care if it _did_ ).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope your teeth aren't hurting from all that sweetness. I really like writing happy moments and I hope they come across as truer-to-life happy moments rather than just shallow fluff. I'd love to hear what you think, so drop me a comment if you're so inclined!   
> This little story is starting to approach its end, with probably 2-3 more chapters and an epilogue. The next chapter is called "Rocky Road" and we'll see some rougher times for our favorite pair.


	16. Rocky Road

Emma moved in with Killian in March. He was somewhat against the idea – he hated her driving an hour to and from work daily – but she left him no choice when she refused to spend nights without him, even when the garage was so busy he couldn’t possibly make the drive to and from Storybrooke to stay with her.

“Perhaps we could look for our own place together, somewhere in the middle?” Killian had suggested after Emma had very non-subtly announced her lease was up and she didn’t intend to sign a new one. She had liked that house, sure, but it didn’t hold much sentimental value. She just wanted to be where Killian was.

“No way. I’m not making you drive an extra half hour every day just because my dumbass job is in Storybrooke. I’ll just look for a new job here. Winter is almost over – it’s not like I’ll be dealing with bad roads for a few months. By then I’ll have found something closer.” She’d leaned further into him on the couch, pressing her lips to his temple (as he sat brooding… _idiot_ ).

Her job was not important to her. The only value it held was the paycheck, and she’d be able to find one of those just about anywhere – she’d sell books, wait tables, man the checkout counter at fucking _Walmart_ if she had to. She’d finally found meaning working with the kids through CASA, trying to make sure these kids didn’t end up like her. What she did for money really wasn’t much a concern.

So on February 28, they finally finished moving out Emma’s things – selling furniture she wouldn’t need and storing some items at her parents’ house since Killian’s place wasn’t overly spacious. They’d been steadily moving stuff a few nights a week for most of February – Killian still feeling guilty about the “burden” he was putting on Emma – but she wasn’t having it.

And the sight of her things making their way into Killian’s life in such a permanent fashion triggered a reaction deep in her belly she couldn’t name. It wasn’t butterflies. It wasn’t like anxiousness; there was no fluttering. It was like a _relief_ , like something that had been missing most of her life had finally clicked in place. Emma felt safe and loved and it was just the most ridiculous notion but she was happy for all her jackets and shoes because when she was gone they were kept company by his.

_Seriously. This man had turned her insane._

(And she loved it.)

On that last night before her lease was up, they made a picnic on her bedroom floor to properly honor the house she lived in when he came back to her life. Wearing nothing but their underwear, her head in his lap as they munched on chocolate chip cookies and taco dip, they recalled all the important moments of their relationship that had taken place in that little house. Ranging from quiet Netflix marathons to burnt dinners to all the surfaces on which they’d had sex (spoiler alert: it was _all_ of them), they talked well into the evening, trying to commit every single moment to memory before she gave the place up.

Emma had dropped some dip on her thigh, which of course led to Killian licking it off, but rather than it escalating to nakedness and thrusting and moaning, they just started to laugh. He found a few more ticklish spots (he knew them all, the _bastard_ ) to keep her writhing and squealing and she just reveled in the pure joy on his face. She wasn’t really giving up anything at all, leaving this house.

Sometimes home is a _person_.

After their laughter died down and they were just lying in silence, Killian absentmindedly stroking Emma’s hair, she finally spoke.

“What’s your favorite, though? Your favorite moment here?”

Killian chuckled. “Well I can tell you it’s not the day I spent a couple hours crying on your porch only to have you throw me out.”

“Well that’s what you get for calling me a whore, _assface_ ,” Emma replied, her face mockingly stern.

“Well if I was right then I’ve worked up _quite_ the tab, don’t you think?” He let his hand graze down her arm, brushing her breast before settling on her hip. To prove his point, he dipped his fingers under the smooth fabric of her panties, pressing down on the spot inside her hipbone that always made her squirm.

She took his wandering hand in her own, placing it back on her arm instead. “Hey now! Don’t get distracted. I asked you a question.”

“You really want me to choose a favorite?”

“Yes.” _Obviously_.

“You first,” Killian challenged.

“Fine! Um.” Emma hesitated. There really were so many wonderful things to choose from. “I’d say the first time you stayed over on purpose. You know, with pajamas and teeth brushing and just soberly and sexlessly saying goodnight.” Emma tucked her head under Killian’s chin, pressing a light kiss to his exposed collarbone. “I knew it was what I wanted for the rest of my life.”

Killian already knew, of course, that her feelings stemmed from quite early in their rekindled friendship-to-relationship. And it wasn’t as if she’d never said before that she wanted to stay with him always. But the glee in his eyes as she spoke the words was as if he were hearing them for the first time, and the tears that glistened in Emma’s eyes in response to Killian’s adorable stupid face was absolutely _not her fault_.

“I love you,” is all Killian said, looking down to stare deeply into her eyes.

“I love you too,” she said. “But if you looked at me any harder you’re going to burn a hole in my head. Plus, you still haven’t answered my question.”

He leaned down to kiss her, his tongue sliding against her lips, begging entrance just as she pulled back.

“Stop stalling!”

He looked properly chagrined. “Well, love, I thought it was obvious. My favorite moment here is _right now_.”

She rolled her eyes, swatting at his chest. “Oh, stop being so cheesy.”

“Make me.” The wiggle of his eyebrows and the slide of his tongue against his lips were practically obscene.

And so she did _make him_ , rolling atop him as she unclasped her bra, kissing him senseless and then yanking down his boxers. He fondled her breasts as she shimmied off her panties, sinking down onto him within seconds. His hands gripped her hips and his eyes went all glassy as he watched her ride him and he didn’t say or do a single cheesy thing the rest of that night.

They would certainly remember _that_ one.

 

Living together wasn’t _that_ much of a change. They’d really already _been_ living together before, just in two houses. It made things easier in many ways – she didn’t have to worry that she had no more clean work clothes at his place anymore – but it did make things harder, too. The commute, while something she’d done off and on before, was truly _exhausting_ once it was a daily thing. Always getting up earlier, always getting home later – she just wanted to be able to make dinner for Killian at a respectable time once in a while, to be the sweet, loving girlfriend now and again, but Killian was so hungry by the time she made it home that he’d always already thrown something together for them by the time she walked through the door.

And there were plenty of nights he was so busy he couldn’t even make it home for dinner anyway. So Emma would grab him something quick from the deli and swing by the garage, but between her home visits for CASA and the book club she was still keeping up with Belle and how tired she often was, her happy visits were occurring less often.

But she was _happy_. It was so worth it, even when she was cranky and tired and angry at all the things in life she could or couldn’t control. At the end of the day she’d put on her tattered cotton pajamas, wash all the makeup off her face, and plop down on a warm, inviting bed, the most wonderful man on the face of the Earth staring at her like she was the fucking _sun_. And whether his loving gaze led to a gentle kiss and curling up to fall asleep or three hours of ravishing each other until they were both crying out in pure ecstacy – it was _worth it._

 

In April, Emma was assigned a new foster child. The one that she’d been working with previously had been safely and happily returned to his home – the parents finally made it back on their feet and wanted nothing more than their son – so Emma’s spirits were high.

Then she met Ava. She and her brother Nicholas entered the system a year before, after they were taken from their severely abusive mother (who didn’t know or _wouldn’t tell_ who their birth fathers were). Nicholas was the younger one, the softer one – Ava had taken the brunt of her mother’s violence as well as the responsibility for raising Nicholas and keeping him safe. The world had hardened little Ava in a way that _broke_ Emma. She herself had been that girl, the one who wouldn’t let anyone in, who put walls and thorn bushes around herself to keep people out.

And Ava _was_ keeping people out. Nicholas had charmed his way into his foster family’s hearts – they’d been placed separately since many couples didn’t want the responsibility of more than one child – and his adoption papers had been drawn up the week she first met Ava, the heartbroken child who had been so hurt by this cruel, unfair world.

It weighed on Emma. This girl, not even yet a teenager, had lived through hell. She’d held more responsibility than she ever should have had to by that young age. She felt _lost_. So Emma tried to help her, tried to gain her trust.

It was proving futile, but she wasn’t going to give up.

 

“Make any progress with Ava?” Killian asked at their usual Friday night date. Emma hadn’t so much as smiled all week, so Killian surely knew the answer to the question. But he wanted to know what was going on. He wanted to _help._

“ _None_ ,” she snapped, much harsher than she’d intended, not looking up from the mixed vegetables she was pushing around her plate rather than eating.

(Yes, she could be childish.)

“Well how did anyone get through to you, love? You’ve mentioned she’s so similar to you. How did you come to trust Mary Margaret and David?”

“Well they were adopting me! I really _didn’t_ let them in at first. But once they promised and swore up and down they’d never ever leave me, then I finally started to be just a little more receptive. Even after that I just… made it difficult for them.” Emma paused. “But I’m _not_ her forever. I’m just the one who’s supposed to help her _find_ it. I can’t promise to never leave her because I’m _supposed_ to leave her. Eventually.” Emma gripped her fork so tight her knuckles went white. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was failing Ava, that she might just be making her life worse rather than better.

Killian reached for her hand, yanking the fork back and tossing it on her plate with a clink. He threaded their fingers together and stared until she finally made eye contact.

“So promise her forever. Why couldn’t _you_ take her? Well, _we_ I mean.”

Killian was 100% serious and an irrational anger flared in Emma.

“Right, because that would just fix it. I can’t take care of a 12 year-old, Killian! I can barely keep my own shit together. And we’re _never_ home. I feel bad enough leaving Pete alone, but promising love to a little girl who feels lost and then just leaving her for three quarters of her life… that’s worse than never taking her at all.”

He would come up with some stupid, easy fix. He might love Emma with all his heart, but he could never understand the lost girl inside her. Like it could be so simple.

Killian dropped her hand and instead threw both of his in the air. “Then quit your job, Emma. You hate it, anyway. And I hate _seeing_ you hate it. And I don’t give a shit that Ava’s 12 years old. You know _damn_ well I’d love her like I love you and we’d take care of her and I know I don’t bloody well understand what it’s like to be all alone, but I can still be a part of making her not feel that way anymore. I could take care of you both if you would just fucking _let_ me.”

Their voices were low, trying not to draw attention to their ~~little~~ huge spat out in public as they were.

“ _No_.” Emma stiffened, dropping her eyes to her plate once again. “She deserves better than two barely grown-ups who _obviously_ can’t even deal with each other.”

She rose from the table and opened her wallet, tossing down all the cash she had.

“I’m walking home and then driving to my parents’ house to stay there. Don’t follow me.”

“Emma, please – ”

“No. I can’t do this with you right now. I just – I can’t.”

Emma swept out of the restaurant and into the street, just barely clearing the threshold of the door before the tears started to spill.

_Hey at least it wasn’t snowing anymore, right_?

Her anger had melted into shame the _second_ she’d looked Killian in the eyes. She _knew_ she was being ridiculous. He wanted nothing more than to make her happy, however that might come about. But Emma had zero chill. After all this time, her emotions were still raw and right on the surface, and she still entirely lacked the ability to think for three fucking seconds before opening her mouth and shutting down the people who loved her most.

Killian’s (very noble) offer to adopt Ava with her _pissed her off_. At first. Now that Emma had some brisk air and was working off the excess emotion with powerwalking, she could see the situation a little more clearly. She was mad at him, half because she was offended he would oversimplify such a complicated situation… and half because she was _jealous_.

The oversimplification thing was easy to explain. She’d had a rough childhood, not just like Ava’s but similar enough, and there was nothing _easy_ about it. There was nothing _easy_ about Mary Margaret and David adopting her. As much as they loved her – and she _knew_ they did – her heart would always have that scar where she wasn’t wanted by the very people who created her. It made everything _not so easy_. So for Killian to act like there was some magical fix – well it offended her. Somewhat stupidly.

But the jealousy thing was absolutely the _stupid-est_.

That deep pang when he said he’d love Ava, too – she knew he meant it genuinely. He was a wonderful man with fairly strong fatherly instincts and he’d do anything to make Emma happy. And she wanted to make Ava happy. But her first lost-girl reaction was _great I’m nothing special, just another stray_. As if Killian had some hero complex and that must be the only possible explanation for his absolutely unconditional devotion to her.

_She was an idiot_.

She already knew she should apologize, but her pride was getting in the way. She said she was staying at her parents’ house so she should just _go_.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket and there was slim to no chance it wasn’t Killian. Probably flaming angry and wondering why he ever agreed to let some irrational, psychotic woman so deep into his life.

_God, if he asked her to leave she’d have nowhere to go._ Again.

Trying to resist the urge to read his message was pointless, so she slid her finger across the screen and tapped the message icon.

_Killian: I love you_

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Of course he was going to react to this like a loving adult and make her look even _more_ insane than she already felt.

_Killian: I understand if you want some space. I can’t possibly understand how hard it is to talk about the difficulties of your life. I’m sorry I didn’t know you when you were that young and I wish I could have made you feel more loved then. And I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was pushing. Please come home soon, my love._

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

It shouldn’t be this frustrating that the love of Emma’s life was so perfect and understanding and overall an upstanding human being who was far, _far_ out of her league.

Her hip sockets (and eyes) were burning when she finally reached the house. True to her request, Killian had not followed her. No, he was probably still sitting at the restaurant, stunned and trying not to cry in his French Onion soup.

She stood in their living room at a crossroads. Do the immature thing and run away to mommy and daddy… or grow the fuck up and wait for Killian to come home.

She paced.

She curled up with Pete to ask his opinion.

(He just asked for a treat.)

(She gave it to him.)

And then she chose the coward’s way out and threw a bag in her car and drove off to stay the night with her parents. She called them when she was on her way and begged them not to ask her why. They simply made up the bed of her old room and handed her some hot chocolate (with cinnamon), promising a hearty breakfast in the morning.

The ride to her parents’ had been long and full of even more shame, but she’d also taken time to think about Ava. She wanted the best for that girl, and Emma knew that right now, she and Killian _weren’t_ it. They’d love her with all their hearts, but they didn’t have the best resources right now – time _or_ money – and they honestly weren’t quite settled enough in their own adulthood to be handling a teenager within the next year.

But the birth father – there was potential there. The mother had spoken of some possibilities, never giving names (of course), but there was at least one possibility who seemed decent. In fact, the reason that wretched woman had bolted from him in the first place was that he wanted something _more_ , something she couldn’t commit to.

Emma had been good at her job, back when she was a bail bondsperson. She could find people who didn’t want to be found. Maybe she could find someone who didn’t even know they were being searched for in the first place.

Emma owed it to Ava to try. Her job as her advocate was to find Ava her _best chance_. And maybe that would be her father. Maybe her father would be the one who could get through to her. Maybe she’d _let_ _him_ _in_.

Emma was lying in her childhood bedroom cuddled up in her mother’s quilt, trying to formulate a game plan for tracking down the potential father – but she couldn’t get Killian out of her head. She’d behaved despicably, reacted poorly (once again) to something he never meant to upset her. He was probably lying at home in _their_ bed sad or angry or confused or all kinds of negative feelings and it was, once again, all her fault.

The worst part was that by this point in their relationship, she had finally accepted that she probably _hadn’t_ fucked it all up. No, they were invested, committed, and it would take a whole lot more crazy than one heated exchange in a restaurant to break what they had.

But she’d hurt him all the same.

Calling him would lead to crying and that would lead to him driving to her parents’ house and crawling behind her in the too-small bed, stroking her hair until she fell asleep. And as much as she wanted that, she didn’t deserve it – not when she knew damn well that was what she would have gotten if she’d just stayed home like a fucking adult who could deal with her own (fairly charmed) life.

So she settled for a quick text. Not an apology, just an assurance that she wasn’t hopping a plane to California or something equally _cray-cray_ , as Jasmine would say.

_Emma: I love you so much. I’ll see you in the morning_

 

David hovered a bit over breakfast, throwing Emma a concerned glance every few minutes until she finally cracked, dropping the strip of bacon she was about to add to her bagel sandwich.

“ _Dad_ , he didn’t hurt me!”

David crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “Oh, I know, sweetheart. I’m more concerned about what you did to _him_.”

“David!” Her mother chastised. Always so protective of her daughter. Her daughter, the Bitch (with a capital B).

“He’s not wrong, mom.” Emma slumped down in her chair, ashamed. Really she should have just snuck out before her parents ever woke up, but she knew they had probably run out to buy supplies for breakfast the second they’d hung up the phone the night before when she’d announced she was going to stay. They were infuriatingly considerate like that.

(Yeah, the lost girl in Emma wasn’t happy with grown-up Emma at the moment. _How dare you have a massive meltdown when you actually got the perfect little life we always wanted [idiot]_ , she said.)

“Well, of course he’s not wrong, but I was hoping he wouldn’t bring it up at the very least,” Mary Margaret said, elbowing her husband a bit.

As if on cue, Emma’s phone vibrated next to her orange juice.

_Liam Jones: You’d better get your ass home, little sister, before Colin and I come and drag you back._

Great, now she was getting it from all sides. Everyone she knew and loved was very well aware of how idiotic she was – it looked like she’d just have to accept it.

_Emma: I’m finishing breakfast with my parents! I’m going home, I promise._

She paused a moment, contemplating whether or not to say more. She hadn’t even apologized to Killian yet, but somehow she figured she owed Liam a little something, too.

_Emma: I’m sorry about last night. The lost girl in me had a tiny teenage meltdown. I spoke to her and we’ve decided we’ve got our shit together again._

_Liam Jones: Good. We’re coming over tonight for dinner so you’d better have everything fixed with my brother before then._

_Liam Jones: P.S. Colin misses his Aunt Emmie!_

A smiling photo of little Colin appeared then, his chubby hand outstretched in a wave.

_Emma: Hi Colin! See you tonight my favorite boy on the planet! (Don’t tell your uncle or your dad I said that)_

 

Emma’s parents hugged her before she left, each promising Killian would understand (yeah, yeah, she already knew).

 

The sight of Killian’s truck in their driveway shouldn’t have caused Emma’s stomach to drop. But part of her was hoping he would misbehave _for once_ just to make her feel a little better. Maybe if he’d spent the night drunk on the Jolly she’d feel just a little less guilty.

But, no, she walked into a perfectly clean house, Killian just finishing up putting away dishes when she walked through the door.

Killian dropped the bowl he’d been holding (good thing they’d bought the durable ones because it hit the floor with a little _clang_ and didn’t actually break). He practically sprinted to her side, pulling the duffel bag off her shoulder so he could hug her properly. She practically sobbed when his arms encircled her, his hot breath of relief tickling at her ear. She grasped at the hard muscles of his back, pulling herself impossibly closer to him. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. How could he love such a stupid woman?

They stayed that way for several minutes, just swaying back and forth and soaking each other in.

“Are you ever going to be done running away from me?” Killian finally asked.

“I certainly hope I am _now_.”

She knew he wasn’t looking for an apology. And really, it was probably silly to even waste her breath on that. There were more important things to get to.

Emma took his hand and led him to the couch. She pushed him into the corner, his back leaning against the armrest, and she crawled directly into his lap.

“Thanks for not leaving me,” she said against his neck.

“Thanks for coming back,” he replied, tugging on a lock of her hair. She could feel the gentle chuckle coming from his chest and she lifted her free hand to scratch across the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m going to try to find Ava’s dad. There was one possibility who wasn’t so bad. If I find him and we get him tested, I think I’ve got a chance that she’ll actually listen to him. We’re just… we’re too young and inexperienced for her. But I appreciate that you’d do that for someone. For me.”

Pete finally woke from his nap and came over to curl at their feet, rubbing his forehead against Emma’s thigh.

“I’d do anything for you. And I guess the story with Ava… I couldn’t help _you_ at 12, but if we had the chance to help her – I’m just saying I would. I wasn’t trying to tell you we had to.”

“I know. I knew thirty seconds after I walked out of that restaurant last night that I was being ridiculous. But I was embarrassed. I didn’t mean to hurt you, especially when you’d just offered something so genuine.”

At that his chuckle grew. “I know you, love. I should have known that something that large was going to spook you. And you were already cranky.”

“I probably will be for a while. I guess my last kid just made me think this was going to be so much easier than it actually is.”

“Aye, love. But I’m here for you. Even if you want to use me as a punching bag. Just – can you please not run from me? I’ve grown rather accustomed to your warmth in our bed and I find myself quite exhausted this morning from my entire lack of sleep without you.”

“Mmmm, me too. Nap time?” Emma pulled back and he was smiling. She led him back to their bedroom where they slept straight through lunch, happily entwined.

 

Liam, Jasmine, and Colin arrived just before dinner. Emma and Killian had been so busy, what with the sleeping and then the more enjoyable activities that followed, that they didn’t actually have time to prepare a meal. They’d called for a pizza and pasta delivery from their favorite Italian place, and Killian caught Emma just before she answered the door to point out that she’d put her shirt on inside out.

The five of them enjoyed their meal, Colin especially now that he was allowed to have bites of grown-up food. The way his eyes bugged out at the pasta was probably the cutest thing Emma had ever seen; though, to be fair, she did say that about everything Colin ever did.

 

While they were cleaning up after dinner was finished, Jasmine cornered Emma in the middle of the kitchen, her pointer finger jabbing right up to Emma’s nose.

“I know you’re crazy, little girl, but that boy loves you. You’d better stop and think how lucky you are.”

Emma knew Jasmine was half-joking, but she was kind of _done_ with being ridiculed for one stupid decision. A decision that really only affected Killian, who had passionately forgiven her, by the way.

“All due respect, Jasmine, but you don’t know the half of my crazy. I’m sure you mean well. I’m sure you’re looking out for Killian, but I’m _not_ leaving him. And I _know_ I’m lucky. But did you stop for _two minutes_ to think about _me_?” Emma tried not to raise her voice, but it was a struggle. She was definitely _cracking_. “I’ve had a rough life. And I’ve had bad shit happen to me. And so, yeah, I’ve taken to reacting badly to some stuff. But what’s done is done. I’m doing my best here. And maybe Killian shared everything about last night with you and maybe he didn’t, but either way, I’ve just had a little too much stress this week to deal with this right now.”

Emma didn’t wait for Jasmine to respond. She didn’t _want_ her to. She loved Jasmine, she really did, but something about today was making her feel like the only reason _anyone_ tolerated her was because of Killian, and, well, that wasn’t the happiest feeling.

Despite her long nap, she was feeling like the only place she wanted to be was back in bed, so she went over and hugged Colin goodnight and told Killian and Liam she wasn’t feeling great, and she promptly clicked the door shut behind her when she went to their bedroom.

Killian had looked confused but probably just assumed the day was weighing on her (truth). She wondered idly if Jasmine would talk about what had happened or if she’d wait until she was back home with Liam to tattle on the bitch of the family, but her question was answered a minute or so later when she heard Killian erupt into barely contained rage.

“Really, Jasmine? I know I was upset last night, but what in the bloody hell were you thinking? I even _told_ you that it was a personal issue and that I wasn’t mad at her. At all! I guess I’ll have to not share my bloody feelings with you lot anymore if you’re going to do nothing but take it out on _her_. I don’t know where – ”

“I was trying to look out for you, Killian! I love Emma, but you’re getting serious with her and it’s not OK for her to treat you like – ”

“She loves me more than anything in the world, Jasmine. What more am I supposed to ask of her? It’s not her fault that things in life have made her cautious. I love her no matter what. But now she’s probably feeling shitty all over again, despite feeling _fine_ before you got here, so I think we’ll have to reschedule game night for a day when you’ve learned your goddamn manners.”

Emma heard some shuffling, a few quiet goodbyes shared between Killian and Colin, and some hushed apologies as they walked outside.

She knew Killian would come in their bedroom and ask her if she was OK, apologize for what had happened, but it’s not as if Jasmine were wrong. Emma should be over this shit by now. She should be a grown-up. It was probably her own maturity, rather than hers _and_ Killian’s, keeping them from being ready to adopt an older child.

She was feeling like maybe that’s all she was, an older child Killian had begrudgingly yet lovingly adopted.

He burst into their bedroom seconds later, apologies spilling from his lips as he took her in his arms.

“Stop, Killian, it’s fine. I’m _fine_. You didn’t need to kick out your family, for God’s sake. They probably just hate me more now.”

“Jasmine can be judgmental. She doesn’t understand leading a different kind of life. She’s an heiress, you’ll recall. One whose parents loved her very much, doted on her, in fact. She can’t possibly understand the lasting effects of a troubling childhood.”

“I’m sorry I cause so many problems.”

“I assure you that you are the least problematic thing in my life. I love you, darling.”

“I love you, too.”

 

The next weeks weren’t much easier. Jasmine called her several times in attempt to apologize, but Emma just couldn’t handle it. Between the hours wasted at her idiotic job and the time she spent trying to gain Ava’s trust – all the while spending enough time with Killian that he wouldn’t feel neglected – she was just exhausted. And Killian was right – Jasmine probably couldn’t possibly fathom what it was like to have deeply rooted issues that led you to make some questionable decisions. But she _wasn’t_ a bad person for it, and she also didn’t want to have to spend an entire conversation defending her right to a happy relationship despite her shortcomings.

She knew she’d eventually have to speak with Jasmine – she missed her little “nephew” so much it ached – but she just couldn’t do it quite yet.

She’d been spending a lot of time on her quest to find Ava’s father. Using old social media posts, public records, and statements from her family (in addition to the mother’s own explanations, of course), Emma had landed on a name: Michael Tillman. She was pages deep in Google trying to find a recent address for him when she looked down at the time: 5:05pm. Her shift had ended 5 minutes ago, and she’d done absolutely _zero_ actual work that day.

And yet she’d felt more accomplished than she had in _weeks_.

She rushed out of the office and called Killian as she was getting into her little green Jetta.

_“Hello, beautiful! How’s your evening?”_

“Hey! Sorry I’m running a few minutes late. I got caught up on a few things and didn’t even realize the time.”

_“Deciding to get excited about your job, Swan?”_

“My job? Ha! No, I didn’t do a damn thing for my _job_ all day. But I think I figured out who Ava’s father is. I haven’t _found_ him yet, but I’m getting closer.”

_“I admire your dedication, love. I’m making chicken salads. Which dressing do you prefer?”_

“Ranch is fine. I’ll hurry home!”

_“Take your time. I’m too tired to come visit you in the ER if you crash_.”

“Oh, fine. Love you!”

“Love you, too. Get home safe.”

 

The whole _eat fast or you won’t eat_ thing hadn’t really worn off, even though it was now far more than half her life she’d had a decent, steady home where she certainly didn’t have to vie for food. But she still found herself stuffing her face so full of food she could hardly chew embarrassingly often.

Which was how she ended up literally choking on her dinner at the next words out of Killian’s mouth.

“You should quit your job.”

Pieces of half-chewed chicken fell out onto her plate as she tried to cough up the bit of pepper and cucumber that was lodged in her throat.

Killian stood from the table, reaching around her to lightly pat her on the back.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He was halfway between laughing at her and fearing she was actually hurt, and the crinkle of his eyebrows was just too adorable for words. Mostly because she was choking on her fucking salad and couldn’t speak, but also just because it was damn cute.

Once she composed herself and took a few drinks of water, she finally managed to react, reaching for his hand across the table as he returned to his seat.

“What did you say?”

“Well, I’ve been meaning to bring it up again, ever since the whole restaurant ordeal. You _hate_ that job. I don’t think you should stay there any longer. We’ll be fine with just my income for now. We’ve both got some saved up and I make enough that as long as it’s just the two of us, we’ll be fine. Use your time better. Dedicate yourself to the stuff you love, like Ava and the other kids. And spend the rest of your time applying for stuff that you don’t hate. Or that maybe you’ll still hate, but at least it’ll be in Emerald City instead of Storybrooke.” He looked at her with a sad smile, like he wished there was an easier route to her professional happiness, but had accepted that the road was just a bit bumpier in that part of her life.

“Are you sure? I can keep dealing with it. I know we want to save as much as we can and we’ve been doing pretty well as we are.”

“No, we haven’t. You’re miserable, darling. You put on a nice face for me even though you’re exhausted and upset and I’m tired of it. I never wanted you to have to make that drive every day, anyway. Please, love. I promise we’ll be OK. Just – just think about it?”

She still had pieces of lettuce stuck in her teeth and ranch dressing dripping from her chin, but she crawled right up on the table, both knees just barely missing bowls full of salad toppings as surged forward and kissed him _hard_. His mouth tasted like Italian dressing and cheese and red wine and it was the most delightful taste in the world because he was wonderful and amazing and she swore in that moment she’d do anything at all to make that man happy.

 

She put her two weeks notice in the next morning.

And she never looked back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter and an epilogue after this! I'm going to be so sad to let this story go. Let me know your thoughts!


	17. The Miners' Festival (Again)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, guys! The last real chapter. I've absolutely loved writing in this little universe and I hope you enjoy how it all wraps up.

The knocking would not stop.

And Pete would not quit barking.

Emma was going to have to get out of bed and answer whatever idiot thought it was a _swell_ idea to drop by unannounced this early in the morning the day after an exhausting day in court with one of the foster kids she advocated for.

She may not exactly have a paying job at this particular moment in time, but she still had plenty of responsibilities and commitments and damn it, she deserved to sleep in on days she actually had the chance.

That, apparently, was not today.

She grumbled, rolling to Killian’s side of the bed to estimate what time it was without the pesky necessity of actually opening her eyes. Still warm. It couldn’t be any later than 7:15 and it was Saturday and who the _fuck_ was that rude?

“Knock, knock, little princess! You know very well I have a key and could just bust in if I really wanted to, so please put on your big girl panties and answer your fucking door!”

Jasmine. Of course.

It had been several weeks since she’d directly spoken with Jasmine, still quite miffed about getting snapped at _again_ for something for which she’d already been forgiven. Emma had still seen Colin and Liam, of course, the two of them carving out time for her when Jasmine was conveniently on call or working. Liam begged Emma (almost desperately) every time he saw her to just hear Jasmine out, but Emma was still too angry. Yeah, it might have been irrational anger, but she still couldn’t help the feelings that were boiling in her gut and she really, _really_ didn’t want any wretched insults flying from her mouth and making everything a thousand times _worse_ all because she was still stewing.

So she’d opted for avoidance. For everyone’s benefit.

But Jasmine was clearly _done_ with being avoided.

Emma finally opened her eyes just as she heard a key scratching at the lock on the handle of the front door.

It swung open and she could hear Pete’s tags jingling as he greeted her with his jumping. A few seconds of _good boy, good boy_ then footsteps were stomping down the hall toward the bedroom.

“I’d wait out there if I were you, Jasmine. I’m not exactly dressed yet.”

“You’ve got about ten fucking seconds before I storm in.”

“Based on the colorful language I’m guessing you’re alone? If you were going to barge in here and ruin my morning, you could have at least brought Colin.” Emma plucked a clean pair of underwear from her top drawer and stepped into some shorts before choosing a shirt at random from the bedroom floor. If she were being _polite_ she’d probably put on a bra first or maybe a sweatshirt or at least pick a shirt with thicker fabric, but people who bully their way into her house on lazy Saturday mornings do not get the privilege of avoiding the outline of her boobs.

(That was a weird sentence.)

(Give her a break – she was tired and _super_ annoyed.)

She flung the bedroom door open, and before she could form a coherent thought, Jasmine started in.

“I brought doughnuts, asshole.” She thrust the box into Emma’s hands and walked to the coffee maker in the kitchen to start the brewing.

“Really, Jasmine, _I’m_ the asshole?”

“Yes! _You’re_ the asshole. I _was_ , but I passed that gold medal along to you two weeks ago after it had been a sufficient amount of time for you to get over my _one sentence_ of bitchiness and you _hadn’t_. You can’t avoid me forever!”

“Not when you storm my castle, I can’t,” Emma huffed, pulling a bear claw from the doughnut box.

“Sorry, princess, your right to be angry at me has been revoked. I’m going to apologize – I’ll only do this once so wipe the sleep crust out of your eyes and pay attention – and then _you’re_ going to apologize. And then we’re going Storybrooke so your mom can teach me archery. Got it?”

“My mom?”

“Yes. Your mother. Mary Margaret. She agreed to do it last night, so it’s not like we’ll be surprising her. Now shut it so we can get this going.”

“Fine. The floor is yours.” Emma bowed from her chair and flourished her hand in mock formality.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did. Instead of listening to Killian’s words, I just felt his _pain_ , and he deserves so much in this world that I was angry at you for not giving that to him. It wasn’t fair of me, because you really do make him happier than anything or anyone in the entire world. It’s hard for me to accept new people, and especially because I only know your story through Killian, it was hard for me to understand your feelings. I haven’t lived through what you have. And I _am_ sorry for that your life was so very different from mine. But we’re Jones girls now and you need to start _trusting me_. You can tell me things! We can share important stuff outside of our boys, you know.”

Emma tried to keep a straight, stern face. She tried to remain hard and annoyed and unappreciative of the morning intrusion. But Jasmine had basically just announced she was her sister, and all it did was tug at Emma’s _lost girl_ heartstrings even more. Crying didn’t seem appropriate for the situation – or maybe it was, but Emma certainly didn’t _want_ to – but words were also not Emma’s strong suit. So she kept it simple.

“I’m sorry I shut you out.

“Just don’t do it ever again,” Jasmine warned, poking Emma’s collarbone before she reached for a sprinkled doughnut.

“You got one thing wrong, though, Jasmine. I’m not a Jones.”

“Oh, _please_. You are in everything but name.”

_Emma Jones_. It wasn’t the _worst_ sounding thing in the world.

Jasmine and Emma finished their doughnuts and drank their coffee and headed off to Mary Margaret’s house. When they arrived, Mary Margaret was rushing around, trying to set up targets against the hay bales despite the strong gusts of wind. It wasn’t the greatest day for teaching, but Emma was just happy to be with _family_.

And, of course, Jasmine was a natural, hitting the bullseye on only her third try. Later when they drove back to Jasmine’s to have dinner with the boys, Jasmine claimed she did it on her _first_ , winking at Emma from across the table.

Emma certainly didn’t correct her.

 

With more of her time opened up and with the ability to physically _search_ rather than just scouring the internet for clues, Emma finally found the elusive Michael Tillman. If she’d still been a bail bondsperson and if he’d been a sleazy bail jumper, she would have used the tried-and-true cleavage routine: finding out where he liked to hang out and thrusting her breasts in his face while shamelessly flirting with him until she found something to handcuff him to. But this guy – he was a good man. He’d been burned a few times in life, which had led him to keep a low profile. Emma could understand that. She herself had originally rebelled against the whole Facebook phenomenon, but for her generation not having Facebook was basically a sign you were a serial killer.

This guy was definitely not that. He was lonely and sad and Emma hoped her tactic of _truth_ would be the right call. Because that’s what she was doing.

It was very late May, a cloudy but warm day, when she knocked on Michael Tillman’s door. She hadn’t dared to tell Ava that she’d found him quite yet – she was fully intending to use the _truth_ tactic with her (no matter how Michael reacted) – but she didn’t want to give her false hope in the meantime.

Emma had dressed more plainly than usual that day, opting for very little makeup and a ponytail so she looked as non-intimidating as possible. The last thing she needed was for Michael to have a girlfriend answer the door and react poorly.

But it was Michael who answered, dressed casually but covered in grease spots, like maybe he’d just been working on a car.

Emma put on her bravest face, trying desperately to allow _hope_ to make her brave (instead of crippling her with the fear that all this work was for nothing).

“Hi, Mr. Tillman. My name is Emma Swan. I’m here on behalf of a little girl who very well might be your daughter.”

Michael stood in shock for several seconds before inviting her in and offering her a drink. Once the water had been poured and they’d taken their seats, Emma began to tell Ava’s story, very careful to include exact dates so Michael might be able to do some math in his head to see if he was truly a possibility or not. It was a long shot, of course, as her conception would have been almost 13 years before, but he recalled his relationship with her mother in shocking detail.

“She could be mine. I’m not positive, of course. But I’ll take a test.” Michael was shaking and Emma didn’t know what kind of man he was, if he would be comforted by a gentle hand on his shoulder or if that would cause him to flinch away. She took the chance and grasped his forearm, looking in his now very troubled eyes with genuine concern.

“I brought the stuff with me. I’ll just need to swab your mouth if that’s OK. Or, I mean, you can swab it yourself. And then we’ll have it sent away. Results aren’t lightning fast, but I know someone who might get them pushed through a little faster. It’ll probably be a week, though.”

Emma reached into her bag to grab the DNA kit when she heard a catch of breath, a light sob. When she looked up again, Michael had tears running down his face.

“I’ll take her, Miss Swan. I don’t even care if she’s mine. Yeah, it’s scary as _hell_ but I loved her mom and I’ll love her, too.” He ran his fingers through his short hair, his eyes focused on his glass of water.

“I can’t promise anything, Michael. Fostering and adopting is a long process and requires a lot from you. But I’ll keep it in mind, all right?”

She showed him the swab, how the q-tip was supposed to be rubbed inside the cheek and then clipped back in the plastic casing to be sent away. He thanked her and gave his contact information, begging that she keep him informed no matter the result. He was absolutely broken up about the girl’s messy life, and she could tell he blamed himself.

But guilt wasn’t enough to make a person suitable to take care of a kid. Emma had to keep reminding herself this thing might not work out – she needed to keep her expectations _low_. Michael could back out at any moment, especially if it turned out he wasn’t the father, anyway.

 

With the test popped in the mail and Ava tentatively informed that there was a tiny shred of hope that she might have some actual blood family to want her (this was important to Ava, Emma had realized), Emma was ready to just _enjoy_ herself for a weekend.

Because it all had become just a little bit too much. Trying to rein in her hope for Ava and her (possible) father was taking most of the energy she had; there was nothing left to quell her own thoughts and fears and sadness.

Where were _her_ parents? Why didn’t _they_ want her? The dad, yeah maybe he was like Michael. Maybe he didn’t know. But what about her mom? She could have been in a bad situation: young, broke, raped… there were a lot of perfectly valid (yet still upsetting) reasons she might have left Emma all alone. But there were lots of inexcusable ones, too. It wasn’t worth her breath or brain energy to worry about it, to let it fester in her heart. Because she _had_ family – the _true_ kind who loved you as a choice and not just for your matching DNA.

But spending so much time with Ava, the little girl who was finally just starting to let Emma in – it was something she couldn’t get out of her head. She had people with matching DNA walking around in the world somewhere. With any luck they hoped she would find as wonderful a life as she had now, if they ever thought of her at all.

Killian was determined to distract her, though. And she loved him for it.

Friday afternoon, Killian left work early, surprising Emma after she got home from playing mini-golf with Ava and two of her foster siblings.

“Surprise, sweetheart!” Killian shouted as he popped up from behind their oversized chair as Emma kicked off her shoes.

She tripped over her own feet and fell sideways, her shoulder taking the brunt of her body weight as it smashed against the wall.

“Ouch! Goddamnit it, Killian, what the hell was that? I thought you wouldn’t be home.”

“Hence the _surprise_ , Swan!” He jumped up and down once again, extending his arms like _ta-da!_

(What an idiot.)

“ _Why_ the surprise, though? I hope you don’t think it’s my birthday, because you definitely celebrated that one with me already. Like, 8 months ago.”

“It does not have to be the anniversary of the grand occasion that is your birth for me to wish to surprise you, darling.”

“Does it ever get exhausting trying to formulate the most obnoxious string of words possible to express one simple thought?” She rolled her eyes, but she smiled, inching toward him so he could wrap his arms around her middle.

“No thoughts of you are ever simple, love. And don’t ever deny you like the way I talk.” He punctuated his sentence with a kiss to her temple.

“No way, Captain Innuendo, I see where this is going and I’m not falling into your trap.”

“Hate to break it to you, my love, but you’re already in it.”

He gave her a few minutes to change and reapply her makeup before he jumped in the shower (alone, on his insistence _not_ hers) and then they were off to begin their date night. Well, date _weekend_ , Killian had clarified. He’d requested her full attention for the following 50 hours or so and Emma had willingly obliged (even before his very persuasive make-out session with her up against his truck as they were leaving for the restaurant).

Though it didn’t turn out to actually _be_ a restaurant they were bound for. Instead, they headed off to the marina for a little evening adventure on the _Jolly Roger_. It had been strung with paper lanterns and little starburst-shaped lights and the deck was filled with fluffy blankets and pillows and a large picnic basket (and red-checkered blanket, of course – Emma had bought that a month or so earlier insisting it was the only cloth on which a picnic could be enjoyed).

“Did you even _go_ to work today? This looks like it must have taken the entire day!” Emma had stopped in her tracks when she’d noticed the boat’s _upgrades_ , squeezing Killian’s hand when she finally processed what she was seeing.

“Oh, I worked today. Fixed an entire transmission, actually. I may have had some help with this particular setup, but my assistants are sworn to secrecy.”

“Liam and Jasmine, then?”

“Actually, _no_. I do know a few more people than those who share my last name, love.”

“Do they share mine?”

“When did this turn into a game of 20 Questions? No, it wasn’t your parents, either. Now move it or we’ll be late.”

_Late for what, exactly_? She didn’t actually ask, and he tugged her arm toward the dock. It was just so _pretty_ she wanted to stare all night, but he had a glint in his eye like she was going to experience something much better on board.

They boarded and he poured her some champagne and made sure she was comfortable in the sea of blankets and pillows before he went to work pushing off and getting them going in the waves. Emma had gotten over her fear of water (for the most part) and even enjoyed helping out where she could, but when she offered this time he refused.

“Your only job is to lie there and look beautiful, love.”

“I’m pretty sure I should be offended. I’m more than just eye candy, jackass.”

“But of course!” He was laying the charm on thick, almost dancing from port to starboard like he was in the middle of a musical. “This evening, however, I’d like you to simply relax. And don’t worry love – I’ve got many very relaxing plans for you.”

He winked and she rolled her eyes and it was all so very _them_ and she’d forgotten about almost all of her troubles before they’d even really hit open water.

It was early June, but still not too hot not (despite the cloudless sky). Emma leaned back against the pillows, hiking her dress up to expose more of her pale skin to the sun’s warmth. Between the bubbly alcohol and the toasty feeling of the sun, Emma almost drifted asleep. Each time she felt that pleasantly exhausted tug pulling her toward naptime, she wrenched her eyes back open to find Killian moving about the deck.

He’d said she should just lie there and look beautiful – well he looked quite beautiful himself, tying ropes and turning wheels and adjusting the sails.

Jasmine was right. Emma was definitely a _very_ lucky girl. Hopefully Jasmine’s thoughts on that front were decidedly less dirty than Emma’s, but it’s not like she could fault the girl if she noticed his insane attractiveness. She wasn’t _blind_.

“Almost time for dinner, love! Hungry?” Killian asked, dragging his fingers through his windswept hair. He sauntered over to her, crouching down to place a brief, chaste kiss to her lips.

“Always.” She responded, leaning up into him for another kiss.

They smiled contentedly at each other before he went back to work, dropping the anchor and heading below deck to retrieve the rest of their food.

It was a light dinner: pasta salad, cheese and crackers, and probably 20 different kinds of fruit (along with a cream cheese/marshmallow fluff dip – fluff was Emma’s _favorite_ ). Emma and Killian had started the meal sitting cross-legged facing one another, but it didn’t take too many minutes of gradually scooting closer before Emma ended up sprawled out with her back pressed against Killian’s chest, one of his arms curled around her waist while the other was feeding her pieces of starfruit.

“Mmmm that’s so good! I’d buy those more often for us, but cutting them up is a bitch. And I’m lazy.”

“Oh, Swan. You’re not lazy. You just like to… focus your attentions elsewhere is all,” he replied, swiping a bit of juice from the corner of her mouth with his thumb.

She leaned further back into him, taking the hand that had just fed her fruit into her own and tangling their fingers together.

“Thanks for this.” She tilted her head and kissed him soundly. “You always know exactly what I need. I wish I was able to do that for you.”

His grip on her tightened. “Darling, you do that for me every day. You know all I want is you. I don’t care if you need to run sometimes as long as you’re coming back. And I don’t care if you’re grumpy sometimes or stressed out. I’m so glad you’ve found something you truly have a passion for. Well, other than me, anyway.”

Such a shameless flirt.

“You’re not _wrong_ ,” she said, capturing his lips with her own once again. His charms were working on her – not that they ever failed to – and she was getting desperate, reaching back with her free hand to thread through the hair at the nape of his neck. The drag of her nails scratching at the sensitive spot behind his ear had him gasping and she took advantage of that moment to slip her tongue past his teeth to stroke against his. They kissed slowly, languidly, communicating all their feelings using no words at all. Killian started moving his hand that still held hers so that it was teasing the skin of her thigh, inching up the hem of her skirt little by little as he did it. Emma continued to kiss him senseless, her lips moving across his face and down to his neck where she bit down gently and then soothed the mark with her tongue.

She wanted to do more but the angle was all wrong, so she sat up and turned herself to face him, pushing his shoulders back so he was almost fully lying down rather than reclining. Intent on carrying on with her steady descent down his body, she yanked at the top buttons of his shirt, scratching her fingers through the chest hair that was exposed when she pulled open his shirt.

And then the bastard stopped her.

“Killian?” she questioned as he took both of her hands in his, leaving her kneeling between his legs, confused. Based on the almost purrs that had been rumbling from his throat as she kissed and touched him, he had certainly been _enjoying_ it. So why stop?

“Swan. I told you that today is for _you_ to relax. So while I appreciate your attentions, I’d much prefer you just lay back and allow _me_.”

“But I want to make you feel good! I find that relaxing.” It came out a lot whinier than she’d intended, but she couldn’t help it. She was perfectly capable of being an active participant in the evening’s amorous activities. Why should he get to have all the fun?

“Emma.” He let go of her hands to bring his own up to cup her cheeks. “Please just let me?”

His eyes were pleading and hers were annoyed, but he would win. He always won.

His victory was clear when her shoulders fell and she eased herself back on the pillows, her fingers snagging between the buttons of his shirt to drag him down with her. His responding smile was triumphant and _happy_ and it was all too sweet for her to handle, so she dragged his lips to hers and closed her eyes, just relishing in the feel of their tongues sliding against each other’s once again.

The sun was still out, but there hadn’t been another boat in sight, so Emma yanked on Killian’s shirt to untuck it from him shorts, allowing her hands to roam against the muscles of his back, scratching, squeezing, stroking lightly. He hummed in appreciation, pressing his hips into hers as she dragged her feet closer, her knees spreading open so her thighs were cradling him. She could feel how much he wanted her, how he’d probably been wanting her for a while but still wouldn’t just fucking _take_ her based on his ridiculous notion of chivalry in the bedroom (or on the boat deck or kitchen table or bathroom sink, whatever).

He pulled back to take a breath before diving right back in, this time latching onto her throat to suck a mark on her pulse point. He kept nipping and sucking along her neck and collarbone, one of his elbows holding his weight off her body while his other hand moved to fondle her (so very disappointingly) still clothed breasts.

Growing impatient, Emma reached between them with both hands, undoing his buttons one by one. When his shirt was fully open she let her fingers explore all over – tracing the outlines of his muscles, feeling them twitch under the lightest pressure, allowing her thumbs to rub against his nipples, making him moan.

“What did I say about relaxing?” Killian bit down on her ear, letting his teeth drag as he moved back to her mouth, not giving her a chance to respond before he captured her lips again.

It seemed to do the trick, speeding him up, because he shrugged off his shirt fully and finally, _finally_ started pulling her dress up and up, his mouth following his fingers and leaving wet kisses in his wake. He dragged his nose across the sensitive spot by her knee, sucked a little bit at her hip bones, circled her belly button with his tongue, and paused at her breasts to nuzzle his face between them, softly kissing the swell of them spilling over her bra as he rid her of her dress entirely.

“I don’t think I tell you often enough how gorgeous you are. Especially in the sunshine when I can see _all_ of you.” His voice was deep and rough and so fucking sexy she couldn’t even think straight and she didn’t know if that was because he was so affected by her or if he was doing it on purpose just to drive her nuts, but she didn’t care. She needed him now.

“You can stop with the flattering, Jones. You’ve already got me.” Emma’s hand wandered down slowly across his stomach until her thumb slipped just barely below the waist of his shorts, trailing from one side to the other. “You can probably just get the fuck _on_ with it.”

With her other hand she reached between his thighs and cupped him fully before removing her hand again rocking her hips against him _hard_.

His willpower was draining. He reached around her back to unclasp her bra, immediately bending down to suck a nipple into his mouth. He nibbled at it and then soothed it with his tongue before switching to the other and paying it the same attentions. It felt amazing and Emma was writhing, moaning, begging him to never ever stop even though what she actually wanted was _more_. With his attentions on her breasts she was never going to get where she actually wanted them, so she grabbed him by the chin and lifted his lips to hers.

It only took her a few seconds to unbutton his pants and yank them down to his knees, his boxers going along with them. At the same time he finally pushed her panties aside, his fingers sliding into her with an ease that left them both moaning. He leaned back and started trailing kisses down her body as he pushed her underwear down to her ankles and she knew what he was going for but stopped him abruptly (before he got any lower and she lost her mind completely).

“Emma, just let me taste you.” He kept working her with his fingers, drawing little shapes and lazy circles between her thighs.

“No. I’m relaxed enough. Please, I just want _you_.”

“You’ve already got me, sweetheart.” He kept kissing all over her body, but (true to her wishes) he wasn’t moving any lower.

“You know what I mean, Killian. _Please_.”

He sucked her nipple into his mouth again, locking eyes with her while he did it, somehow sporting a ridiculous expression of innocence despite the entirely _not_ innocent activities they were currently enjoying.

The jackass was going to make her _say_ it.

“Killian, I need you _inside_ me. I just want to feel you. Stop making me beg like an idiot.” Instead of trying to use her body to convince him, she simply gave up, lay back fully on the pillows, letting her hands fall gently behind her head.

“I’m sorry, love. Promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Emma’s eyes were closed, but she could tell he was smiling and probably winking or waggling his eyebrows or something else equally adorable and attractive and ridiculous. She finally felt him lean back, heard him kick off his shorts completely and then bend down to rid her of the underwear still hanging off her legs.

He was quiet a minute so she got curious, opening her eyes to find that he was kneeling between her spread legs, just _staring_.

“Sorry, love, just taking in the view,” he chuckled.

When he eased himself back over her again, he kissed every single bit of skin he could reach. She reached down between his legs and grasped him, pumping a few times before he lifted his head, locked eyes with her, and murmured _I love you_.

Then he slid inside without hesitation, her little cries encouraging him to _move_. He felt so good, like he was everywhere all at once. The rocking back and forth and swiveling of his hips, the feeling him deep inside of her – it was enough to reduce her to a panting, moaning _mess_. She planted her feet to better lift her hips, meeting him on every thrust while she scratched her fingers down his back and grabbed his ass and thanked the universe for whatever boyfriend lottery she won that she found a man who made her feel good – _amazing_ , really – in every possible way.

“Oh – bloody _hell_. Please tell me you’re close, Emma.”

“Yes – ah, _oh_ my god.”

Killian reached down and lifted Emma’s hips, jamming one of the smaller pillows beneath her back before thrusting back into her harder. The change in angle had her panting and whining and so _close_ and finally she wasfluttering around him and he was grunting and pulsing and oh my _god_.

There was something so strange about feeling the rocking of a boat, the actual waves of the ocean beneath your back, while metaphorical ones were crashing, too, and surging and dragging you under.

Killian rolled off Emma a second later, dragging her with him so that she was splaying out mostly over his body while they caught their breath.

“I love you. So much. Even when you don’t listen to me.” Emma scowled at him, a half-hearted expression considering how sated and happy she was.

“I love you, too. Even when you inexplicably won’t just _let me take care of you_.” He kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheek and she curled around him, tangling her legs with his and just enjoying the feeling of the sunshine on their skin.

Wow, they’d just fucked in broad daylight. Guess they’d always keep having firsts, huh?

After a (probably) brief nap, the two of them retrieved their clothes and put away the rest of the food and reorganized the pillows so they could just relax on the water and watch the sunset.

 

The next day Emma assumed they would go to brunch or maybe have a lazy Netflix marathon kind of date, but no. Killian insisted their summer would not be complete without a trip to the amusement park. So they packed up sandwiches and bottles of water and all kinds of childish snacks and set off for the two hour drive to the closest park that actually had coasters.

They spent the day walking and playing unwinnable games and stealing kisses while in line for rides and Emma was _sure_ they were getting glares from cranky old people and jealous teenagers, but it somehow just didn’t bother her. They got fake tattoos (the Chinese symbol for _love_ next to a Tweety bird) and rode the paddleboats and bought little keychains of the pictures from their rollercoaster adventure and all around had a very cliché kind of summer afternoon.

After the two hour drive home they were too tired even for one lazy round of sex, so they brushed their teeth and curled up together and kissed goodnight, and Emma thought that date weekend was turning out to be a success.

Until she woke up alone. Killian’s side of the bed was cold and the entire apartment was silent and something seemed just a little _off._ It was Sunday morning, so they usually would make a nice breakfast, go for a walk (no more Pongo since she’d left Storybrooke; that did make her sad). Sometimes they’d head to the movies or other days they just slept in and then ravished each other for several hours.

With the exceptions of car-related emergencies, Emma never woke up alone on Sunday mornings.

She left the bedroom and scanned the rest of the house. Empty. Even Pete wasn’t home. Oh, right – they’d taken him to Liam’s before they went out on the boat Friday night. Maybe Killian had gone to pick him up? But it wasn’t like him to leave so early… and without her.

Then the front door creaked open and blue eyes were staring back at her in horror.

“No! Damnit, Emma, you’re supposed to be in bed!”

She laughed at his obvious annoyance, like _she_ was the one making things weird for looking for him when _he_ was the one who creepily _left_.

“The bed was cold! I was about to call emergency services and report a missing person.”

“For next time, love, how about you try to ring me first.” He kissed her cheek and then started pushing her back toward the bedroom. “Now go lie down and pretend you haven’t woken yet.”

“Seriously, Killian?” Emma was confused and confusion made her angry so she was basically shouting at Killian and all because he wasn’t in bed when she awoke.

“Play along, please?” He requested, flashing her his best puppy dog stare.

Without responding she scurried off to the bedroom, closing the door behind her and sinking back into the warmth of the blankets.

She kept her eyes closed, even when she heard the bedroom door slowly creak open again a minute or so later. The bed dipped down with the pressure of Killian’s body against her thighs and he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

She made a show of opening her eyes and yawning and stretching exaggeratedly how they always did in cartoons.

“Oh, my, my! What do we have here?” She exclaimed in a truly terrible southern accent.

Killian held in his hands a heart shaped cake which read _I love you_.

Emma found it adorable, but also felt like she was missing something. Anniversary, birthday? No gift giving holiday were nearby. “What’s the occasion, Killian? Not that I’m ever opposed to cake.”

“Not just any cake, love. _Ice cream_ cake. I asked you for your darkest fantasy last weekend and you said ice cream cake for breakfast. So, alas, I’ve made your fantasy come true.”

He’d been trying so hard recently to get her to tell him what she’d want him to do for her if she could have anything at all. Mostly he just seemed to want her to talk a little bit dirty, but she was always too self-conscious, so she replied with the first non-sexual thing she could think of. Ice cream cake.

They moved to the kitchen and enjoyed their cake while watching a rerun of Supernatural on Netflix. When they finished they put the leftovers in the freezer for Emma to give the girls at book club this week, and Killian suggested a walk to burn the calories.

“Come on, darling, I know we’re both very fit, attractive people today, but we can’t start letting ourselves go.”

She threw her hair in a pony tail and didn’t bother with make up or cute clothes, just put on a tank top and yoga capris and her newest pair of sneakers. Killian donned his (her) Doctor Who t-shirt and a pair of comfortable shorts, but there was something very uncomfortable about his expression when he thought she wasn’t looking. Fear? Guilt? There was definitely a negative emotion in there somewhere and Emma suspected it had to do with the morning’s little venture. Would he bring back ice cream cake to cover up something bad? Was Dairy Queen even open at 9am on Sunday?

“Let’s go, Swan! And don’t forget Pete’s leash and such. We’re grabbing him on the way.” He was acting normal enough then and on the drive to Liam’s. But something was going on – she knew it.

Liam was outside with Colin when Emma and Killian pulled in the driveway. Pete was on his run, just soaking up the early sun – until he saw Emma, of course, which prompted him to launch his full body weight on her as soon as she was in reach of his lead.

“Oof! Yes, Pete, I missed you, too. Ready for a walk?” She kept talking nonsense to the dog as she unfastened the rope and then hooked him up to his harness and then his leash, but really she was watching Killian and Liam out of the corner of her eye, trying to listen to anything they were saying. They were _both_ looking all weird and shady and for fuck’s sake if Killian was cheating on her with some idiotic woman whose car he was servicing, she was going to set the whole goddamn block on fire.

But she wouldn’t want to jump to conclusions, of course.

“Ready, baby?” she asked Killian, tapping on his shoulder. He rose from his place at Colin’s sandbox, dusting the grass and sand off him.

Emma must not have been as covert in her spying and being confused as she thought she was because as soon as Killian turned his back, Liam smirked at her and winked.

He fucking _winked_.

You don’t wink at the girlfriend when she’s being cheated on, right? You don’t wink at her if _anything_ is wrong. You might wink _behind_ her, but he definitely was looking directly at her and no one else could see and Emma was confused and angry and holy _fucking shit._

It was the first week in June. Today was the day of the Miners’ Festival last year – the day Killian came back into her life, all because he stopped for lunch with her and Ruby while he was passing through town.

It _was_ an anniversary of sorts. And he was making a big deal of her relaxing and _date weekend_ and they were going to the Enchanted Forest where their relationship sort of began and holy bloody buggering fucking _hell_ – she didn’t know enough expletives for this current moment because she was 95% positive she was on her way to her own proposal and seriously holy _shit._

She and Pete shuffled into the truck and Killian yelled goodbye to his brother before sliding in the driver’s seat. He smiled at her and took her hand (her _left_ hand, which she suspected was about to get a little heavier). She tried to smile in return but wasn’t fully in control of her facial muscles and the result was probably somewhere between a grimace and _constipated_ , but Killian must have been too busy worrying about keeping himself together to notice she was rapidly falling apart.

_No_. Not apart. This didn’t have to be the end of the goddamn world. Emma was _happy_ about it. She _wanted_ to marry him – stay with him forever, tied together in all the ways two people can be bound (no, not _that_ way – get your head out of the gutter). She always knew this would happen. So why was she having a panic attack?

They were just going to take a walk – the same walk they’d been taking almost every Sunday for a year. It was part of their routine. It was beautiful and wonderful and causal and _for god’s sake Emma don’t fuck up your own proposal._

The drive there was nearly half an hour, but Emma busied herself with singing along to the radio, petting Pete, and checking her emails on her phone. By the time they arrived she was only 35% freaking out, but her certainty for what was to come had launched to 99% when she saw the heartbreaking look of worry on his face when it probably registered to him that his girlfriend was still a flight risk, even on her best day.

He sprinted around to her side of the truck and opened the door, taking the leash from her so she could get out herself without tripping over Pete. He took her hand and they started walking down the path, his thumb tracing soothing patterns along the back of her hand.

She really _did_ require relaxation now, so she tugged back on his hand for a second, stopping him before they got to the path and stealing a quick kiss.

“What was that for, love?”

“What, I’m not allowed to kiss you any time I want to?”

“Well, this isn’t _Sweet Home Alabama_.” Emma laughed, a little giddy that he’d gotten the reference.

They kept walking, bantering on about the merits of romantic comedies and action vs. drama and how utterly crazy it was that police procedurals continued to be popular despite all being exactly alike.

And that was when it happened. She’d been distracted by their pop culture debate, so distracted that she’d forgotten the thing that was going to happen.

Yep, 100% positive it was going to happen.

The bench was just off the path – _their_ bench, the one they sat on when they spilled their secrets and finally agreed they were better off together than they were apart. This time it wasn’t entirely empty. A bouquet of pixy stix with little pipe cleaner flower tops sat right in the center.

She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do now. Was this the part where it was supposed to dawn on her what was happening? Or was she supposed to still be confused?

As if hearing her thoughts, he bent down to whisper in her ear, his lips grazing her earlobe. “Just play along, yeah?”

“OK,” was all she said.

He led them to the bench, sliding the vase aside so they could sit down. He took both her hands in his and breathed in deep. “Don’t panic,” he said.

“Are you talking to me or yourself?” Emma chuckled, trying to shake off the nerves.

He glared at her a moment before his eyes softened. And then it began.

“I decided if I was going to make a practiced speech, I certainly couldn’t do it in a doorway. Those I rarely get to finish. But I’m asking you to let me finish this one. Can you do that, love?” He paused. “I’m actually looking for a response here. Promise you won’t interrupt me?”

She laughed again. Man he was good at making her feel better when she was stressed. “I promise I won’t interrupt.”

He placed a quick thank you kiss on her lips, took another breath, and began.

“One year ago today I stopped for lunch in a town that I hated. And in that town, I was surrounded mostly by people I hated or at best simply didn’t care for. And my heart was hard and cold and dark. But only hours after seeing _you_ again for the first time in years – I was already seeing the light again. The town didn’t seem so bad, not really. And, yes, I was a jerk that day and for a little while after, too. But it’s hard to let it in the light when you’re afraid it’ll leave you blind. Well, love, suffice it to say I’ve ended up loving you so much I probably wouldn’t care if you _did_ blind me.

“I know I’m quite loquacious and I’ve made my love for you known through words just about daily since the day we got together (officially), so all that I can see is remaining is for me to _show_ you by spending every last day together for the rest of our lives. If you would be so kind as to choose a pixy stick, love?”

“You’re offering me a tube of sugar to prove you love me?” There was the confusion again. Tears were threatening to fall at his words and she was sure the ring was going to be what came next… but apparently it was time for sugar instead.

“Well, choose the right tube and you’ll get it. I said _play along_ , Swan.”

He handed her the vase and she noticed there was only one tube that was pink, her favorite flavor. She looked into his eyes, searching for approval, and when he nodded she slid that tube out of the bunch. Once it was free she noticed something sparkling in the sun dangling off the fuzzy flower attached at the top.

The ring.

Not just _any_ ring, though – it was the engagement ring that David had given Mary Margaret.

Yeah, that was when the tears _really_ started flooding.

“I didn’t ask their _permission_ , really, just for their blessing. They said yes. I actually made them do a video recording in case you didn’t believe me. I can show – ”

“ _Yes_.”

“You want to se the video?” he asked, already digging in his pocket for his phone.

“No! I mean yes I’ll marry you.”

“I didn’t even ask yet! Swan, stop ruining all my practiced speeches.” He scowled at her, but she could see in his eyes the moment it sank in that she’d agreed. “Wait, you will?”

“Did you expect me to say no?”

“Honestly I somewhat did expect you to run. Ruby’s actually parked in the lot. She was my plan to stall you if you tried to bolt.”

“Well I didn’t. Do I get the ring yet?”

“I have to _ask_ first!” he gritted out.

“So just fucking _do_ it already!” she screamed, loud enough to spook a grouping of birds just down the path.

At that they began laughing hysterically. Of course they’d scream at each other over their proposal. Really, it only made sense.

When they regained their composure, Killian slid off the bench and onto one knee, holding out the emerald ring in front of him. “Will you marry me, Emma Swan?”

She paused for effect, making a show of _deliberating_.

“You bet your _ass_ I will, Killian Jones!”

He slipped the ring on her finger and they both jumped up and hugged and kissed and hugged again and did a _cheers_ with pixy stix and took some pictures and texted and called all their friends and hours went by and Emma was happy and sugar high and dizzy from the weirdest best day she could imagine.

(And if they slipped behind some trees and had sex against a large boulder, well that would be a secret that stayed between them and the squirrels.)

Killian was just helping her back into the truck for them to head home when Emma received one of her favorite text messages of all time.

_Jasmine: Told ya you were a Jones ;)_

 

It was the following Tuesday when she got the call from the lab. She’d been riding the high of her engagement for the past couple days but she somewhat pessimistically assumed she was in for bad news because couldn’t possibly be lucky enough to get two sets of good news in the span of one week.

But it turns out she was wrong. Michael was, without a doubt, Ava’s father, so the state was prepared to grant visits with him at first to get them acquainted before hopefully they could begin the fostering and adoption process.

The state, of course, had called Emma’s foster parents as soon as things were decided, meaning Emma didn’t get to be the one to pass along the good news to Ava. But just a half hour after hanging up with the last social worker, Emma received an excited call from Ava, thanking her emphatically for helping her to find her family. Emma started crying immediately, hardly able to form actual words in response to Ava, so the two of them decided on meeting for lunch (and ice cream) the next day in celebration.

Killian was equally floored with happiness when he got her text, opting to pas off the car he’d been working on before break to one of the newer guys so he could go home and dramatically sweep in the door of their apartment to scoop her up and spin her around.

“You’re such an idiot. You should have stayed at work.”

“Oh, hush. I’ll go back eventually.” He spun her around a few more times (for good measure) before bringing her left hand to his lips for a kiss. His thumb grazed over her ring – he was more or less _obsessed_ with staring at it and touching it these days (and so was she, but don’t tell anyone).

 

And that weekend they finally got to show it off to everyone at that year’s Miners’ Festival.

Her parents, as always, were working the Candle sale, but they took a nice break once Killian and Emma arrived. Her mother had alerted all her friends that the newly betrothed couple was there, a whole flock of them descending upon the pair as soon as Mary Margaret and David went back to candle-selling. Regina and Zelena offered their sincere congratulations as they each took Emma’s hand in their own to examine the ring – somehow forgetting that it was the same ring Mary Margaret had worn on her own finger for more than two decades.

“God, people are just so pushy, aren’t they? Have I ever before given the impression that people can just walk up and touch me?” Emma grumbled as they finally broke free of the crowd.

“Yeah, this is nothing. I felt like I needed to act as Jasmine’s personal bodyguard while she was pregnant. People would touch her before they even said hello!”

“Ugh. I’ll probably end up in jail when I’m pregnant all because of my hormone-fueled rage over someone touching my stomach.”

“I’ll bail you out. I think it’ll be OK.” He pulled her closer to his side, pressing a light kiss to the crown of her head.

“Well thankfully that day is _not_ today, because I’m ready to _drink_.”

They made their way to the beer tent, stopping to receive congratulations from just about every person they passed ( _ugh_ , small towns). They bought two beers each once they actually made it to the front of the line, and as if on cue Emma spotted her group of friends just gathering around the fire.

Elsa and August were sharing a chair, while Ruby and Victor stood huddled against each other behind them. Belle was sprawled out in the grass with Jefferson’s daughter Grace, and Felix was perched on the edge of a log he’d stolen from the wood pile, flirting with a younger group of girls seated next to them.

Everyone squealed at first and demanded to see her ring (at least _these_ people had mostly never seen it before). A few of the girls tried to start in on the wedding planning, but Emma cut them off quickly.

“Do not start talking colors and venues and the merits of taffeta over chiffon. I do not give a fuck – oops! _Sorry_ , Grace – and it’ll just make me run away to Vegas to get married and not invite any of you. So, do. Not. Push.” Emma warned them just the same as she’d warned her parents and the Joneses in the days before. She agreed to this for a _marriage_ , not a wedding. She’d get around to planning when she damn well felt like it.

Killian rushed to agree. “Please do not cause my fiancée to leave me, all because you’ve stressed her out with china patterns. Speaking of china patterns, we don’t need china. We’re not that fancy. Anyone gets us stupidly fancy things as engagement or wedding gifts, we’re leaving them at your doorstep.”

“Man, you bitches are _harsh_!” Of course Ruby would be the one to comment. “I’m not about to complain. Just provide free booze and I’m _in_.”

The conversation _finally_ drifted to more interesting topics as they drank more and more, the sun sinking a little lower in the sky. They decided to walk around the carnival a bit, watching the kids perform and play games. Killian suggested some dinner so everyone purchased various assortments of fried concoctions and made their way toward the benches set aside for meals. It being close to dinnertime there weren’t many seats left, so they were cramming and squishing in just to fit all at the one available picnic table.

“Mind if I sit on your lap, Killian?” Emma asked, balancing her onion rings and pop in one hand.

“Why on Earth would you ask permission?” Killian was adorably confused for about three seconds before it dawned on him what had happened the year before.

“ _Oh_. Yeah, sorry about that.”

 

Killian and Emma really should hire themselves babysitters when they drank. Or maybe they needed to _not_ start at 4 in the afternoon. Either way, this could have been prevented… somehow.

After dinner the group had made their way back to the fire pit where a new band was just setting up. They all plopped down in the grass just in front of the stage, chatting and drinking and just enjoying the night. The band started not too long after that and everyone started dancing and singing along and hollering and overall having a joyful time.

But then the band started playing MakeDamnSure by Taking Back Sunday and Emma dared Killian to rush the stage and take the microphone and then he dared her back and somehow they both accepted the dare and by the time the first chorus had rolled around, Emma and Killian were the new lead singers and the actual lead singer was left attending to the couple’s drinks at the edge of the stage.

To be fair, the band took it quite well. It was the security officer – _Graham_ – who didn’t find it so funny.

“Come on, guys, you know I have to escort you out now.”

“But _Humbert_ , we sounded good!” Killian was still riding the high of the spotlight.

“You’re unruly and disrespectful and _drunk_. Come on.”

Graham looked like he’d had a bad day and Emma didn’t feel like dealing with an actual fight, so she just tugged Killian’s jacket in the direction of the exit. “We’ll show ourselves out, Graham.”

“I mean it, Emma. You’d better leave.”

“Oh, believe me. We’ve got better things to do.” Emma giggled, taking Killian’s hand.

She swore she heard him mutter some kind of congratulations behind them, but it certainly wasn’t sincere. So she just let it roll off her shoulders and she grasped her almost-husband’s hand even tighter as they ran out of the festival and down the road, stumbling to the beach and collapsing down in just enough time for the fireworks to start booming.

They couldn’t see them very well through the trees, but the waves were crashing and the world was spinny-fuzzy from the alcohol and the sand felt good on their backs, so they just lay back and enjoyed the warm June night, their hands linked tightly together.

“Have your flask tonight?”

“No. Sorry, love. Didn’t think to bring it. Somehow I’m guessing we probably don’t need anymore alcohol, though, Swan.” Killian released her hand, bringing his arm around her shoulders instead. She tucked herself into his side and pressed light kisses to the exposed skin of his neck and chest.

They were silent the rest of the show, just listening to the waves lapping at the shore on one side of them and the booms and sizzles of the fireworks on the other. After the rapid boom-crackle-bam-repeat of the grand finale and the resulting whoops and cheers from the festival, Killian brushed some hair off Emma’s face and finally spoke again.

“Any idea how we’re getting home, love?”

“Not a clue,” Emma said, chuckling.

_Oh well._ They’d figure it out.

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we go! I'll post an epilogue in the next week and maybe sometime in the future I'll do a one-shot here and there of their future together or even their high school friendship. Thank you so much for reading! Getting all your comments and reviews and kudos has really brightened my days and I truly can't express how much that means to me. You'd think I could because I'm supposed to be good with words, but nope. You're all awesome and THANK YOU :)


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the happily ever after! It's short and sweet and ohhhh how I'm going to miss this story.

Killian and Emma Jones were anything but traditional.

Their engagement party that first summer turned into one giant board game night, a round of Cranium reducing all their friends and family to belly laughing and even some hysterical tears.

They rented out a whole laser tag arena for their joint bachelor/bachelorette party two years later.

And a year after _that_ they booked their pre-wedding honeymoon on a former pirate ship sailing for the Caribbean.

When it (finally) came time for their actual wedding, Emma (very predictably) panicked, leading Killian to pull a _Jim & Pam_ and take her to get married before they got married – asking the Justice of the Peace to meet them at the abandoned baseball field outside Emerald City to make her his wife at one of their very favorite spots, the place he’d taken her the day she’d finally resolved to being his friend (the second time around).

(One of her best decisions ever.)

“Your parents are going to kill us,” Killian observed as they walked down the “aisle” (the path to the dugout), helping Emma climb on top it to meet the JP on its roof where they once watched the stars.

“Not if your brother gets to us first.”

They exchanged spontaneously written vows. Killian promised to never forget to be her _friend_ first and her support, to love her fiercely until the day they lower his body into the ground ( _God, Killian, morbid much?_ ). He promised to always chase her wherever she might run, to be a devoted father when that day came (and to make her enjoy every single second of their _practicing_ to conceive). Emma promised much of the same – to be his friend, his support, to love him forever and ever, to love his kids when they had them. But she amended his statement about her running away; she promised to _never_ run without him firmly by her side. And she also promised to have a healthy sex life, including an addendum that they’d keep their passion alive for many decades following the birth of any kids. The JP blushed ( _what, I have to take advantage of our family not hearing these vows, right?_ ) and Killian beamed at her, extending his clenched hand toward hers for a fist bump before they started the exchange of the rings. They kissed far too passionately, Killian lifting Emma so her thighs wrapped around his waist, until Killian stumbled a bit on the shoddy, decrepit roof and the two of them came tumbling down with a loud _oof_ from each of them.

“Are you two fools OK or do I need to rush you to the hospital before your _actual wedding_ this afternoon?” he scolded them.

“Sorry, sir, I do believe we’re just dandy, isn’t that right, love?”

“We’re perfect! Though I imagine we should probably cut the garter toss from the reception or we’re going to get some rude comments about these scrapes on my knees.”

The already wedded couple was only slightly late to their wedding preparations, and everyone just kept remarking how surprised they were at Emma’s calmness.

“You really did find the right guy, didn’t you? I never imagined this day going so smoothly,” her mother commented.

Yeah, it wasn’t going to be so smooth when she found out _why_ exactly Emma was so calm.

The ceremony was lovely – filled with readings by their loved ones from Emma and Killian’s favorite love stories and songs, in addition to the more traditional set of vows (love, honor, _cherish_ ). They’d had to take off their rings after wedding #1 so they could place them on one another in the presence of friends and family for wedding #2, each smirking at the familiar slide of metal on their left hand ring fingers.

And when they were pronounced Mr. and Mrs. Jones that second time, they _again_ kissed a little too passionately, the proud ring bearer Colin shouting at them, “knock it off – there are kids present!”

 

A year and a half later, Emma was out for brunch with Ava – discussing her high school classes, talking about the trip she’d taken with her father and his girlfriend Belle to New York City (the public library was her favorite; she and Belle were sort of kindred spirits), when Emma suddenly got a terrible wave of nausea.

“Um, Emma, are you OK in there?” Ava asked through the bathroom stall.

“Yeah, sweetie, I’m fine. Uh, maybe we could call Ruby to take you home?” Emma choked out between bouts of vomit.

“No! Why don’t you call Ruby to come get _both_ of us and I’ll run to the drug store to get you a test before she gets here.” Ava was always a perceptive girl and knew Emma and Killian had been trying for a few months now.

A perceptive girl you couldn’t argue with when she’d made up her mind (Yes, Emma recognized how like _her_ she was in some ways). “ _Fine_. Here’s my wallet. Get two different brands. _Wait!_ No, I can’t have a teenage girl buying my pregnancy tests for me. How terrible does _that_ look?” Emma wiped her mouth and exited the stall, rushing over to wash her hands and rinse out her mouth.

“I’m texting Ruby to meet us at the drug store. I’ll buy them and you can just be my moral support.”

She grabbed two tests and a large bottle of water and more candy than Halloween and Ruby showed up to take them back to Killian and Emma’s, Emma lying in the backseat with her belly lurching and her head spinning.

Holy _shit_ , this really might be happening.

Ruby and Ava sat outside the bathroom door as Emma gathered her courage just to _pee_ (trying not to hyperventilate, of course), until a sharp knock brought her back to reality.

“Emma, love, are you in there? Am I to understand you’re not feeling well?”

 _Fucking Ruby_. Of course she called Killian.

(She loved her for it.)

“Come in here, Killian.”

He sat next to her on the edge of the bathtub, grasping her hand tightly and kissing her hair. “I’m sorry you’re feeling ill, darling, but I do hope it’s something more than a spot of food poisoning.”

And it was.

Emma swore Ava and Ruby to secrecy until she was cleared of the risk of miscarriage – but even once the 12 weeks had passed, Emma hardly ever left the house, so scared she was of losing another baby.

Killian tried not to push her, knowing that the loss of Henry was always weighing on her soul, making her worry about it happening all over again. And she _was_ worried. Every single minute of the day.

The day it boiled over was a tense one, ending in Emma locking herself in her childhood bedroom, collapsed against her door in a puddle of tears, after screaming at her mother for accidentally bumping into her belly with a glass-dished casserole.

“Love, will you please let me in? Please, just let me hold you. The baby is fine; _you’re_ fine, but you’re going to need to calm down. Sweetheart, _please_.”

Emma let him and led him to her bed, cuddling up against him and quietly sobbing herself to sleep. “I told you I wouldn’t run away or shut you out. But I’m _scared_ ,” she said when he woke her to go home.

 

Though in the end there was no reason to be scared at all. Arabelle Elizabeth Jones was born healthy (with a powerful set of lungs on her – _she got that from her mother_ , Killian teased) on a late August afternoon after 24 hours of labor. Twenty four hours of pain and screaming and Emma calling Killian every insult she could think of and a few she made up and it was terrible – _so_ much more terrible than anyone ever told her. But it was worth it for their little girl.

 

And it was worth it again a few years later when Jack came along.

 

And again a year and a half after that with Maggie.

“Darling, she’s beautiful! The most beautiful messy infant girl I’ve seen since Arabelle came to us.”

Emma smiled up at him, still sweaty and red-faced but happier than she’d _ever_ been. “She’s going to be the _last_ messy infant you ever see, so get your fill of this image right now, daddy. Momma is _done_.”

“That’s what you said after Jack, sweetheart.” Killian stroked her hair while he played with the tiny fingers of Maggie’s hand.

“I mean it this time, buddy. You’re getting yourself _snipped_. The family is complete. If you want another baby, you’re taking that up with Jasmine and Liam. This branch of the Jones tree is no longer growing.”

The nurse took Maggie from them to clean her up and Killian went back to the waiting room to announce the arrival of his newest princess.

“Is she here?!” Arabelle squealed from her spot on Jasmine’s lap, Colin and Jack both perking up from the book Colin had been reading aloud. Arabelle had been devastated when it was announced that her first little sibling was to be a boy, so when the second was confirmed to be a girl, the 8 year-old had practically cried with excitement.

“Aye, little love! Margaret joined us about ten minutes ago and she’s safe with your mum. We’re to meet her now, but remember that she’s very fragile and Emma is very tired and probably cranky, so we must be on our best behavior. Right, kids?”

The three children nodded emphatically, agreeing with “yes, daddy” and “of course, Uncle Killian.”

But Killian was looking directly at _Liam_. “What about you, then?”

“Oh, now I’m one of the kids?”

“You always have been. Now be nice to my wife, will you? She’s still not over you making fun of her gown when Jack was born.”

The nurses were adamant that there be no more than three people visiting Emma at once, but Killian used his significant charms and dashing good looks on them, persuading them to look the other way while the whole lot of them marched in.

Emma about melted as the train of family members marched into her room: Killian (carrying Jack), Arabelle, Colin, Liam, Jasmine, Mary Margaret, David, Ava, Michael, Belle, and Ruby (carrying her son Peter). They hardly even _fit_ in the cramped recovery room, huddled around Emma’s bed so closely that in earlier years of her life she’d probably have had a panic attack.

But _now_ – now this was _normal_. This was every day – her life was _full_ and happy and just the very opposite of _lost_. She had a wonderful job (interior decorating was surprisingly calming for her, and having her sister-in-law Jasmine as her partner was amazing). She had a full group of friends, a man to love her to the end of the world, three – now _three_ – perfect children, a house, a purpose, dreams for the future… she had everything she ever wanted – in addition to things she never thought to ask for.

There were struggles every day, of course. Life was never _easy_. She probably hadn’t slept a full night in more than 8 years, the cost of diapers alone was going to eat through half of her last commission check, and Killian was all-too-busy at the shop since his last two employees had decided to quit and open a flower shop together. These kinds of headaches were never going to just _go away_.

But the _big_ stuff, the important stuff, the things Emma never dared _dream_ she’d get when she was just a little girl bouncing from house to house with nothing but a few shirts and toys in a garbage bag – those things were finally _hers_.

And she was never looking back.


End file.
